Hello, again, friend of a friend.

Let's not waste time on reintroductions. Suffice it to say if I'd forced myself to write, it would have been even worse than when I actually WANT to, so you should consider yourself fortunate that I instead decided to neglect you.
I'll get straight to the point. I know you're busy. I see the way you're looking at me expectantly, wondering if I will be offering you a gem or a pile of dung. It's probably a little of both.

I am shamed, this holiday season. Shamed because I committed a great parenting foul. I made a list of all the things I wanted to buy people for Christmas. I labeled it, in my anal retentive manner, with their names, and labeled the entire paper with the words "Christmas List" (hopefully not "Christmas Shopping List"? I dunno, I don't have it with me). I tucked it away safely. Then I untucked it to look at it again and proceeded to lay it carelessly on the table at my house. Fortunately, I did use a complex code of highlighter colors to indicate things that had been ordered already, and did not provide a key with which to break the code, because I apparently forgot that my son is capable of reading.

I was informed this morning over the phone by my mother that Riley had apparently thought it was hilarious that I was considering buying him pajamas, and showed her where I'd written it on the list. The Christmas Shopping List. The clearly labeled list, detailing in my obsessive manner, every single friggin' gift I intended to spend money on this holiday season.

In one foul swoop, he has taken my control of this situation away from me. He holds this valuable knowledge over my head. In my mind, he is the Godfather. He sits pompously behind a heavy table with his fat fingertips pressed against each other and his head cocked just slightly downward enough to shadow his eyes. I approach him, meek and prostrate; his careless mother. He knows he holds the power of Christmas in his hands. It is in his power to destroy my careful planning, and I have unintentionally granted him this power. Now I must appeal to him to keep this secret (perhaps by hiding a severed horse head in his sheets), or try to outwit him.

My success in the coming battle will hinge upon whether or not I labeled it a "shopping" list. If I didn't, perhaps the claim that the list was for Santa (followed by a casual suggestion that he add anything he sees missing before I send it off) will work.

If I did? If I did label it a shopping list?

Then perhaps my son will stop believing in Santa Claus at five. At which point, my only solace will be in teaching him to use his new found knowledge as a weapon against other children.

I found this by googling "Parent fail". It makes me feel a little better.

I was a crappy cheerleader and a crappier girl scout.

You guys want any cookie dough?

You don't have to actually make cookies out of it if you don't want to.

Commmeeee onnnn.

My kid's going to be the lame one that has to watch all the over-achievers claim their prizes. I've sold so little cookie dough. I've actually had to manipulate purchases out of people. For example:

Me: Cookie dough. How many tubs can I put you down for?
Innocent Coworker: I still have a couple in my freezer that I've never made from-
Me: What, like three? Round it out at a nice five?
Coworker: I don't actually bake them.
Me: Did you know my very smart son attends a school that consistently scores too low on standardized testing? Probably because they don't make enough money on cookie dough to afford school supplies.
Coworker: I really don't want it, though. Can I just donate money?
Me: Just buy a tub and give it to me afterwards. I eat food.
Coworker: Oh.... okay, then. What flavor do you want?

I am going to have so many tubs of cookie dough.

And that's my success story. But the kids at school aren't going to care about that when they point and laugh at Riley as he steps up to accept his.... let me consult the prize book.... "Scent"sable Pencil and Eraser.... and stands next to Joe Cookieseller with his flat screen tv. Stupid Joe, I hate that guy.

In other news, I enrolled in online classes and am working towards a degree in SOUL-LESSNESS. Seriously, that's what my degree will be for. It's spelled the same way as "Accounting" though. This doesn't mean I've given up on my awesome plans to somehow get paid just for breathing and sometimes passing gas. I will eventually still do that. Maybe when I'm 70 or something, if I haven't drained my IRA and if Social Security exists and is worth anything by then. I'll probably even pass a LOT of gas, then. But for now, I'm going to shoot for being an auditor or a CPA and try to make enough money to buy a Camaro and lots of MUTHA-EFFIN' TUBS OF COOKIE DOUGH.

Because although it may be cheaper to just buy a TV, in the end, I really like cookies.

The scariest thing is how much Trick or Treating SUCKS now.

Happy DAY-AFTER-HALLOWEEN! Did you get lots of candy? Did you? If you did, I'm beating you up and stealing it, cause my kid got CRAP. People just don't celebrate this greatest-holiday-of-all-holidays anymore. It's sad. When I was little and had to walk to school uphill both ways in the snow without shoes, we used to be set loose for HOURS with a pillowcase and would come home with enough booty to last until the following Halloween. Last night? Riley got maybe 8 ounces... Sad. It did, however, make me appreciate the FEW houses that were decorated, almost so much that I wanted to risk a restraining order and run up on their porches to hug them.

Anyway, people on facebook know this already, but it's worth repeating for non-facebook folks or anyone that missed it. I brought the kids home some little surprises yesterday. Zoey got this little guy:

I named him "Mr Boo" and she loves him. Who wouldn't? Cute as all-hell.

And I got Riley one of these:

The Spider version, that is. Couldn't find a picture. That's the valentines version.

I stuck a marshmallow pumpkin and a pumpkin pez dispenser in the spider's back. Riley, while attempting to eat his weight in pez, asked for suggestions on names for the spider. I thought I was being clever and cute when I suggested Mr. Leggington, Sir Manylegs and Spidey McManyfoots. He turned all of these down. Later, he named it "Tyler". Sometimes I think he quietly judges me and determines that I am weird and that he should fight against being like me at all.

Yesterday was also a Halloween Party at work, which meant that I finally had to succumb to the terrible peer pressure as a result of my boss announcing that I looked like the Sun Drop Girl. (You tube "Sundrop Drop it like it's hot" if you don't know what I'm talking about.) All of us in the office agree that I was robbed when I didn't win the costume contest.

Riley was King Julian from the Penguins of Madagaskar (and the movie of similar title):

And Zoey was a very unhappy bunny. Understandably so, since her fluffy white tail was the size and toughness of a tennis ball, and we meanly forced her to sit on it:

Going to be trying some new ideas next year to keep Halloween fun! Riley almost didn't want to go trick or treating this year and I need to stage an intervention to keep this awesomest of holidays from becoming his least favorite!

Go get me some candy.