Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Hello Rock?

Hello rock? This is the Hard  Place calling!

I stopped in to Genea's classroom today and went with her to her desk. Here is my problem (let's just get to it shall we?). I found her desk has been moved and she is now parked at the side of the teachers desk, and she faces the teacher when she is sitting. The other kids all sit at desks that are arranged in clusters of 4-6. It is not a large room, so Genea's desk is very close to a "cluster" but there is no denying that she is separated from the other students.

Why has she been separated from the other kids? The teacher gave me several reasons. First of all, Genea likes it there. She has an open invitation to return to a cluster at any time, but prefers to sit with the teacher. It improves her ability to focus and pay attention to her work and if she has questions, obviously the teacher is right there to answer.

So, what is my problem? Here are my logical, intellectual problems. I don't believe Genea needs that level of attention to be successful. I am concerned that once the door to that sort of one to one special treatment is opened, we will never be able to shut it. I think that isolating her from other students is the wrong thing to do. She does prefer isolation, she has had a lot of it in particular as part of the neglect she experienced with the first family that adopted her. I also do not believe we should be asking the emotionally disturbed 7 year old what she wants and accommodating it.

I understand the teacher has a distinct job to do and that is to teach my child to achieve the norms for second grade children in this country, and if specialized seating is helping her to learn than that's how it should be. I see my job as more global and I have to be concerned with her social development as well, which quite frankly is poor. She will be able to observe other children interacting from that spot but not practice participating.

What kind of parent objects to their child getting extra educational help? A boost directly from the teacher? (And really, if she were on an IEP, proximal seating would probably be checked off as a needed accommodation).

Me, I object because they did that to me.

For two years in elementary school I was isolated from the other students in my classes for 3rd and 4th
grade. My desk was in the back of the room and sort of barricaded by portable walls and shelving. One hundred years ago when I was in school, kids were not diagnosed with ADHD and for sure not girls. I don't have fond memories of the time period but I don't have bad memories either. Looking back however, I am horrified that it was allowed. You can believe that the deficit in my attention was massive (though I had not a molecule of hyperactivity  ), and continues in much more muted ways today. But I swore no kid of mine would ever be put in that sort of situation.

Then there are my vague feelings that this is not the right thing to do for Genea. Setting her up to attach, maybe developing a bond with a teacher she will leave at the end of the year, I can't pinpoint why really. Is this something minor that I am amplifying?

I don't know. Shouldn't I be happy that there is one more person looking out for my daughter? Someone else who adores her and gives her special attention? Would I be as bothered by this if it were Teena?

The Husband does not like it either, his reasoning is that the separation is stigmatizing which I absolutely agree with. Genea does not need another stamp on her flashing *different*.

So please, what do you all think? Am I missing something? I know my perspective is skewed off into all kinds of wonky directions because of my emotional reaction. I believe I may have actually turned purple while speaking to the teacher and I could feel my blood pressure going up! I've been shaky even writing this post.

Thoughts? Perspectives? Help?

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Crazy Funny

I found a photo blog a few days ago that had me literally laughing my ass off. It's called "Sh*t My Kids Ruined" and it is killer funny. And Oh My Stink I would have pee'd myself sitting on the sofa if that were not specifically forbidden in this house.

So here, for your After Holiday Crazy reading pleasure, is the link. However, I cannot stress this strongly enough, put down your coffee and for the love of indoor plumbing go potty first!

 Sh*t My Kids Ruined

The Huffington Post calls it "The Best Birth Control Ever", which I am a strong proponent of. Anyone who could come up with the line "glitter is the herpes of craft supplies" wins my heart and mind forever! Also I can feel really great about myself knowing my kids have only pulled about a quarter of the stunts on the site (or should I feel worried that they still have so much to accomplish?).

From my own archive, with no photo's sadly, we have the day Teena's Daddy was in charge. I had gone to work and he was working from home and watching "the baby", who I believe was about 18 months old at the time. I came home to find my make up decoratively used as artistic medium all over the bathroom. Everyone denied responsibility of course but I did note that most of the damage was below the height of 2 feet. Eyeliner, lipstick, anything you could spread with a brush or a finger, was smeared into cabinetry and the counter. Of note, Teena was clean. Despite her experiment with abstract art she had no signs of evidence on her. When I went into the bathroom to clean it all up (no, no, no one had cleaned it up yet) I noticed there was a teddy bear pacifier at the bottom of the sink. Uh huh.

Got a funny one? If you have pictures you should send them to the site, but if what you have left is a story feel free to tell it in the comments or link up and tell it on your blog!

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Freedom From Turkey

This is going to be the third Thanksgiving that I have had this blog! I would love to write up a great post about the holiday and make a gravy- boatload full of hysterically funny comments and observations about the holiday, and especially about how much I don't like  turkey.

Unfortunately, I have done that already. (last year)

Twice. (the first year)
And I consider myself a thorough person. I may procrastinate the snot out of everything in my path but by jingo, when I do it, I do it right. Or so I like to think. Anyway. I now have this problem wherein I have used up all my good lines about turkey and now I find myself with nothing interesting left.

Okay, its a very narrow topic! Gimme a break!

Possibly part of the reason is because we are staying home this year for the holiday and I don't actually have the anticipation of eating a turkey looming up. I'm funnier when backed into a corner with dread. This year, we are eating pizza. I asked the girls what they would want and the answer was both easy and clear. Pizza. I actually have worried that they might get negative feedback from friends or people at school. I imagine the conversations going like this:

Teacher in my Imagination "Are you excited about having turkey on Thursday?"

My kid in my Imagination "no, turkey sucks lady, we are having pizza"

Teacher "What? No turkey? You have to have turkey on Thanksgiving!"

My kid "we have to have turkey, my teacher said so". Cue Wango Tango.

I also worried that they might realize later that everyone else had turkey and they did not. Therefore they might feel bad about their holiday and family. This is that conversation:

My kid in the future in my Imagination "My parents never let us have turkey on Thanksgiving. They never let us participate in anything that was socially standard. Or fun. We never fit in at school or anywhere else for it".

Kids psychiatrist in the future in my Imagination  "And how did THAT make you feel?"

My kid "Well, I can only assume it was part of their general pattern of laziness and self indulgence and I resented it".

Kids psychiatrist "mmm HMMMM", (scribble scribble). 

See, these are the things I worry about. So I asked them again, just to be sure. I mean no, I don't want to have a turkey. I sure the hell don't know how to even cook one but I'm guessing I could buy one of those Banquet family dinners with the reconstituted avian product and the gravy substance and I know I can cook that. I can open a can of that solid cranberry gel stuff.  But no, pizza is what they picked.


So, that's what we're having. I am going to get some pumpkin pies and other desert things. The good stuff. But first, they will have to eat their pizza.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Genea gets lost

Genea has the most gorgeous, thick curly brown hair you ever did see. I call it her "rock star" hair because it tends to go wild at a moments notice regardless of any stabilizers used that day. It has the kind of loopy curls that I have coveted all my life, the sproingy kind that you can gently tug and will ping right back up into curl again. I love-love-love to play in there. And Genea, she does not like it so much but, she says, she lets me do it because I love it!

Genea last fall doing homework, hair is at it's most wild

Hair is slightly more contained on this day, loopy curls are evident

I've also been known to joke that things have gotten lost in there. It really is dense hair. At times I have found birds, pencils, homework, dvd's or even last nights dinner. I have gone as far as to claim that her bad mood has become stuck in her hair and that is what is making her cranky. You know, instead of the Bipolar Disorder. I rub around on her head with a little drama, flinging curls left and right and muttering to myself hmmmm, what's this... noooo that's a quarter.... maybe--- noooo, that's the cats toy..... AHA! Here it is! Yikes, it's a big one! Then I walk with her to the door, careful to hold on to the bad mood without pulling her hair out. I add a bit more drama with one hand opening the door and one hand trying desperately not to let loose with the bad mood in the house. We open the door and swoosh, I foof her hair up and throw the bad mood out the door and superfastshutthedoor again so it doesn't sneak back in. Which has been known to happen.

Last night I went to check on her and she had pulled her flower quilt up over her head. I could see the tips of some of her curls sticking out over the green edging of the quilt and I began to slowly move her hair from her face so I could kiss her goodnight. Only her face never showed up. I kept moving pile after pile of curls from the side I thought her face should have been on and...... nothing! Of course I tried moving the curls the other direction to see if her face was over there, and even tried pushing them away from the middle. Still! No face! By now I am giggling because you know, I always thought this might happen. I've been worried for years. I did eventually find some face back on the side I started from and the face had some eyes that were opening what with all the curl flopping and giggling on my part and I told Genea, "I thought I lost you! I couldn't find you under your hair!" which she in turn thought was pretty funny and she began giggling too. We smiled and giggled another minute and I was able to give her that kiss goodnight. It was the best moment of our day.

Monday, November 15, 2010

I am not taking down my blog

I am not going to hide my blog. Recently, several moms have had charges filed against them with Child Protective Services and their blogs came up as an issue. No, but the problems are serious, profound. One blogger had children removed from her home. Another blogger has had severe legal problems linked to her blog. Several other bloggers have abruptly stopped writing.

I will not.

Corey does her usual great job of explaining the issues while also providing ideas and solutions so folks can help right here

I started this blog with the idea that I would talk about the many unexpected issues brought into my family with the adoption of an older child with special needs. We have had success beyond the highest expectations of anyone. We have resolved a massive, fatal medical condition because of my own research and problem solving. We have uncovered several new root problems in the process, that we tackle every day.

Our daily shit is hard people, it is really fucking hard. But it can be done and by bloody jingo I am going to write about it and post it. What I desperately want to accomplish with my blog is to be a link, a lifeline, a bad example, a good example, dare I hope an inspiration. My goal is for a mom, any mom, to read my blog and say to herself, oh thank heaven I am not alone in this.

When I started reading other people's blog, three stood out as life rafts to me. Lisa at Life at the Grateful House, Stephanie at Parenting the Hoovers and Kids Special Needs, I don't know her first name! Being able to read the words of these women surviving similar chaotic daily lives made all the difference in the world. I would link, but none of the three is currently blogging.

This is a first amendment issue. I'm trying to avoid a "Donna Martin graduates" mentality and I don't want to play into some Journalism 101 thing either. But it is a fact that I have to ability to speak freely as a citizen of this country.

I can tell you that without the cognizance of other people in similar situations, we might not have made it. We would have returned to being a family of three about six months into the placement, before the finalization. There was a time, a long stretch of time, where I was convinced there could be no worse parent for Genea than myself. None. I have said once or twice that I would imagine going down to the prison out-yard and throwing a rock. Whoever that rock hit would be a better parent for Genea than me. I used to make a sick game out of it in my mind. I could throw a rock at the line outside the illegal shelter for people rejected from the usual homeless shelters in town and find Genea a better parent. I could stand outside the only methadone clinic, 45 minutes away, and throw my rock. Until I found out about the different manifestations of Reactive Attachment Disorders from a book another parent recommended, and I read that book and for the love of shit there was Genea on every page of "her" section. And I realized, Dear God I did not cause this.

People who have shut down their blogs are doing what they have to do to save their families. They'll get no judgment from me. I see it in a way as shooting a big fat middle finger to the powers that be. (Blog? What blog? Yes, that IS a coincidence)! It's not enough that these are people who have taken on some of the most difficult, traumatized, hurt children in the country. We have had no one to talk to, no one who understands the truth and now the outlet, the community of blogging is being knocked down? Bullshit, that's what it is. Bull. Shit.

Is there any consideration, and I have no facts, just an instinct, to the idea that with public blogging suddenly the freewheeling policy "interpretations" in various social services are coming to light? I wonder if someone, high in authority somewhere, has not issued one big memo with the subject line "Cover Your Ass".

So I am not going to hide. I will be right here, where I have always been blogging about the same shit (literally!). I will not tone it down. I might even take it up a notch to try to help cover the void.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Kids in the City Part 1

We went to Chicago last weekend for the baptism of my new niece. Poor little girl, she thought she was there to audition to the chorus and so she er.....vocalized.... for about an hour. The Greek Orthodox folks do things slightly differently than the typical Catholic way (my only other comparison) of a very brief christening of a baby where it is like, dunk- and- done- and you are protected from Purgatory and Other Stuff. The Greeks don't care that their pews are like rocks with no cushions, besides they expect you to stand most of the time (although I sort of felt the minister was on a power trip with all his stand- up sit-down gesturing). What they like to do is get things all done in one swoop. So while it is most inefficient in the moment, they load the child with everything at one time. The Baptism, the essence of the First Communion, and the Confirmation are all rolled up together in a ceremony that takes approximately 17 hours. Okay I "enhanced", but it really is at least one full hour although there is some comfort in knowing that this completes the officiating until the child gets married. Oh yeah and it is mostly in Greek. Of which I speak the one word, "baklava".  The church is beautiful. I entertained Genea (*ahem* and myself) by taking pictures and showing her the digital images.  I sicced Teena on my parents.

 This picture is of part of the ceremony. There are several Clergymen attending to the baptismal water. They are praying over the urn and there is a man in the corner who sings and chants throughout. On the left is the Godmother trying to jiggle the sobbing baby who I believe is trying to say, but I already had a bath today! Next is the Godfather, the rest are churchly men. It is a glorious, complex ceremony and I described it to the girls as a party for the baby to say, "welcome to our family and the world". I just wish I understood some Greek!

 A picture of the ceiling which is heavily decorated and painted. I love the beautiful detail and how much light comes in the windows. This is about 30 feet up.

 Ah yes, Genea close up. She loves to have pictures taken and then look at them on the back of the camera. Fortunately this provided *her* with some distraction when *she* got squirmy or inattentive.

Here my girls are after the lunch reception. Aren't they gorgeous?

 My mom bought these fabulous dresses for them. This is one of those pictures that is in no way perfect, but I believe captures them well.

 Incidentally this is a picture of them in the same restaurant about 3 years ago when the last baptism happened. I thought it would be cute to add it to show how much they have grown. I believe this also captures their personalities well!

(My mom likes to dress them alike. Since she purchases the most beautiful dresses I let her get away with it. Also, there is no denying how adorable they are here).

My children sat through the entire service with very little bribery and minimal threatening. I had discovered something the night before at dinner. We went to the restaurant affiliated with our hotel and it was NOT a family sort of place. It was a dark, formal, dating your mistress kind of place. The sort where the food is beautiful and there is no glob of gluey mashed potatoes to be found and no loaf of bread is hurled at you to keep you quiet while they cook.  Certainly no kids menu! Typically in a situation like this I will review with the girls what they should and should not do. You know, keep your voice down, don't kick your sister, stay in your chair and do not crawl under the table. You are 5 and 7, act like big girls.

It is rare that I can cover everything ahead of time that they can think of to be disruptive. Teena will be sure to lick the underside of her plate and take the cover off the salt. She will have the opportunity to do this as we are admonishing Genea not to tell the waiter how to do his job, or that no one wants to hear her howl when she realizes they have no macaroni and cheese dish.

What magic did I spin upon them? Was it magic from the Kingdom of Benadryl and Sedatives? Magic from the Philosophy of Bribe and Threaten Parenting? It was so simple it will make you spit your kids Halloween candy all over the keyboard (you know you are still eating it!). I told them to act like adults. So simple. Unbelievable. Suddenly they are telling me how to behave and stopping themselves mid-impulse. Teena briefly kicked at the booth, then declared "adults don't kick". And that was it. Adults don't squirm around in their seats or get up every 3 seconds. Adults remember to be polite and keep their pea and other assorted products in the toilet (ha ha, I just made that last one up, wishful thinking).(HA, no I mean adults do that but it didn't stick with the kids!).

I have more, and will continue Part 2 of the post in the next few days!

Friday, November 5, 2010

Crazy is Catching

I'm going off on a little family trip this weekend and all four of us will be staying in a hotel in Chicago. Which is going to be a ton of fun. I have a few "Chicago" touristy things planned for the girls, who have never been, in their memories. American Girl Place of course, and hopefully the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier. Genea and I will sit in a nice warm restaurant and watch Teena and her Daddy ride it. Maybe a boat ride on the river. There is just so much to do and see and I am excited to start showing it to the kids. We might go see the Bean sculpture too, if we have time.

Sooooo..... the hotel is going to be a little bit cramped. I used Priceline and here is the deal. I have used Priceline for years and have never been disappointed. They are a booking service on the internet, where you can blindly bid on a hotel room for example, and you may or may not get something for that price. Well, since I have used them for years I never had a need to re-read their contract.


I bid a low number on a top rated class of hotels in the Michigan Avenue area of Chicago. And I got it! And, it's really a great deal for a fabulous "boutique" hotel.


Turns out that Priceline only guarantees there will be a room to accommodate 2 adults. That's it. And..... I have 2 adults and 2 children. Mmmmm. It also appears that "boutique hotel" is code for microscopically small rooms with one tiny bed and no bathtub. So I contact the hotel to request my 2 double beds like it says in the handy little contract on the site. They are "sold out" of rooms with 2 double beds I'm told, but can offer me one king bed for an additional fee.

Ohhhhh hell no you don't!

I called Priceline and spoke with a customer relations woman who was very nearly crying when I was done with her but who refused to cancel the room. She tried to suggest that I book another room. And mentioned several times that she thought I should read the contract again. Turns out Priceline is not for families! I know for a fact William Shatner never once warned me in his commercials about this. I mean, I've never booked a hotel with the kids before, I  never imagined they would be unable to accommodate my family.

So, there's that.

Then, there is the crazy family I was born into, as opposed to the one I created. See, we are going to a family event for a child. Only, here is what happened. Cousin Payola was invited and is attending with his wife and children. Cousin Payola's parents found out he is attending and have decided they will have to stay home. Cousin Payola's sister, Cousin Unabitch found out he is attending and announced that she too is now unable to attend.

(Cousin Unabitch gets her name courtesy of The Unabomber. She is prone to sudden illogical attacks on a person).

(Cousin Payola gets his name from the fact that he has a lot of payola. He would like all of us to know and appreciate it. Here is a little history).

Here is the story. Cousin Payola and my Uncle G (his father) are involved in a lawsuit over..... take a guess..... money. Rumor has it that Cousin Payola has said some ugly things to my uncle, whatever. My uncle actually phones the mother of the child having the celebration to explain to her, things have become so unbearable that he could not guarantee he and Cousin Payola would not "come to blows" if they were at the same event.

No really.

I'm like dude, you are seventy years old! SEVENTY FUCKING YEARS OLD! Time to grow up has come and gone mister, come! and! gone! Oh yeah and by the way this event has NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU! It's about a young child.

Then, Cousin Unabitch, who incidentally has not spoken to Cousin Payola for several years now, has decided she cannot attend and she based that decision on the reported "ugly comments" he made to her father, my Uncle G.

....... tha' fu   ?

THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU YOU STINKING BIMBO! Seriously! That is a fight between two other people neither of which is you! Oh and by the way, this event has nothing to do with you either! It's about a young child.

Now actually, I have had my own issues with Cousin Unabitch and for my interests, I'm just as glad she is not going to be around. Truth is I have several vivid memories from my own childhood of these crazy people and the vicious things they can say and do and so, honestly I don't want my own daughters around their brand of crazy, the crazy that comes out when they are all together. I do love them as my family and I should also say I have fantastic crazy memories of super great times with them all while I was growing up. They have always been the fun part of the family. It's that protective mother's instinct that makes me wary of having them all in a room at the same time as my children.

And then, there is this.

Genea is on a tear. We have been reducing one of her medications at my strong and persistent request but I'm not entirely sure that is what is causing the relapse. She has started pea-ing on herself again, daily. Sometimes a few times a day. Could urinary incontinence in a mentally ill child be connected to her medication? I don't remember if she became continent when we started this med and that seems like something I would have remembered. It wasn't an anti- pea med. The behavior I am seeing is the minutia controlling variety as opposed to the screaming tantrum wango tango variety. Where she is picking her fingers bloody, pea- ing on herself, sneaking around, stealing, trying to get away with constant (and I mean constant) little things. She seems to be struggling a bit more in school this year and I suspect that her need to be hypervigilant is conflicting with her need to get work and classroom responsibilities done. With all that, it will sound odd, but she is really doing well overall. She is finally to a point where she can listen and process the things we tell her and sometimes remember, and act on it too.

Anyway, she is usually Miss Perfectly Perfect in front of other people so I'm sure she'll be fine. I packed a bunch of extra diapers just in case. Sheesh.

Then of course there is my Ritalin girl, who does not actually have any. Teena, who puts the H in ADHD. She has a ton of Halloween candy and is allowed a few pieces daily. I discovered that she has been opening the packaging sideways and down the middle. She pushes out half the candy and eats it. Then, she puts the whole mess back in her bowl of candy, disguised. I'm actually impressed while simultaneously ready to kick her butt.

Hmm, kind of a rambling post here. Anyway. I'll be out of town for a bit, so I will be able to read blogs but probably not comment or whatever.

Crazy really does seem to be catching.

Monday, November 1, 2010

Men can't pick candy

I married a man. A man who, for all intents and purposes, is male. Now, it just so happens that the maleness is a good part of the reason he was selected by me. Back in the single days, I had somewhat of a list of requirements that I loosely held to when seeking a partner. Male. Employed. Self- managing. Long hair. Smart. Cute. The last five of the six qualities could be negotiable if the sixth quality were exceptional (yes, I was flaky). However, the first quality was firm. Never to be digressed from.

Saying all of that is my little way of attempting to excuse The Husband from being a male. It is not his fault. In fact, it is one of the many reasons he became The Chosen One. He can't help the fact that his gender was pre-selected for him and I have to admit, it was part of the appeal.

But sometimes, he just doesn't get it. And he is known to do things that I feel the world in general would find strange.  So I decided that even though I have been so sick I could sleep on a rock, that I had better be the person who went to buy the Halloween candy. If I were to suggest that he, The Husband, do it I had a couple ideas of what could go wrong and no ideas of what might work out exactly right. I figured that he would buy one small package of Crunch bars and eat 15 of the 20 in the bag and then announce just prior to 4 on Sunday that he was going to replace them and that was his intention all along. The other scenario I imagined was The Husband buying a big bag of that candy the geriatric crowd likes so much. That stripey stuff, white hard candies with multiple colored stripes in a variety of widths. Or anise. Uck, I remember getting anise flavored candies from the older folks on my block, always wrapped in red or black cellophane. I'm not sure where that can even be purchased anymore but I feel assured that The Husband would figure it out. Smart man that he is.

I just knew he would do something goofy in obtaining our Halloween candy. Something male- ish that would require my having to go and do it over anyway, so let's just skip the goofy decision part and get straight to the candy- in- the- dang- bowl part.

So, I went to Target. It is notable that I would have found the candy aisles right away by inner radar even if the entire north- west segment of the store had not been lit up in flashing construction cone orange. Anyway, I stared at the immense candy selection. And stared, and stared. What the ? Bags by the thousands. Multiple choice bags. Single choice bags. Weird combination bags. Starting at $6.99! When did it get so freaking expensive?

I began the completely logical and efficient process of making my decision. My first move was to grab a bag of Reece's peanut butter cups, because those are my favorite. I almost walked away when the thought occurred to me..... I don't want to have to give away these peanut butter cups! These are my favorite! I better get another bag of something. Hmmm, maybe I'll get something The Husband likes. That way I'll look like a nice, considerate person, but really, I'll put his Kit Kats on top of the bowl and hand those out first. Excellent. Perfect!

No, okay that's really selfish. But quite frankly I'm just being honest. I'm not the only one. I'm just the only one who will admit it.

Then I had another thought. A deep, ugly thought. What if I give out all the 65 Kit Kats and my 50 Reece's are left and he eats all my Reece's because that's what there is? Fully and completely likely to happen. Crapola. Now what. I already have 2 huge bags of candy just in case there has been an extreme baby boom in our area or, the Sister Wives and their 92 kids moved into the neighborhood. I had plenty. Probably.

But what if it wasn't enough? What if I didn't have enough candy to pass out to the sudden surge of hundreds of children and have enough Reece's for myself and enough Kit Kats that would satisfy The Husband and keep him away from my stash? Plus, you know, it would almost be the worst thing in the world to run out of candy on Halloween! Embarrassing! I mean, we are already that family. Do we have to be THAT family?

Only one thing to do. Buy one more bag of something. So, in order to protect my Reece's, I purchased an additional bag of candy to pass out. This bag was intended to go out for distribution. Starbursts and Skittles. Both are things I like okay but if I am needing candy in a bad way, chocolate is what I want. I can give away sour- fruity stuff. I've thought of everything. Every contingency has been considered and planned for in a way that should result in some leftover candy for me.

So. One super large bag of Reece's for trick or treaters, or possibly myself if there were not several hundred kids this year. One super large bag of Kit Kat's for the trick or treaters, or possibly The Husband if there were a few less kids than I anticipated. Or even me if luck turned my direction. One super large bag of 55 Skittles and Starbursts for anyone who came to the door to go on top of the bowl cuz no one likes those in my house.

If you are wondering, we did get a lot of trick or treaters. Like about 20.  We never even opened the bag of Reece's.

There you go. Logical and efficient, task completed.


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