Happy Feet

Last week, I had the pleasure of leaving Rollie and Matilda with their father for an evening, while I went out to dinner and a movie. I had thai at Ma Li (my fave) with a glass of wine, even. I then drove to the theater, pumped in the car (strange experience - kind of makes you feel like a stalker, sitting in the car and watching couples and college kids go into the theater), and then went to see Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I wanted to see Walk the Line, but it was too late for this early riser. I made it just in time to see the previews, which I like almost more than the movie itself. I hate to miss the previews.

Since it was Harry, most of the trailers were for similarly-rated movies: Narnia (can not freakin' wait to see that one!), a Cheaper By the Dozen sequel (did people really watch the first one?), and Aeon Flux (loved it on MTV, but the movie looks bad). Finally, there was some movie about penguins dancing. It was called Happy Feet.

This brings me to the real subject of my post. Just because you are capable, technically and graphically, of making penquins dance, does not necessarily mean that it is a good thing.

The Rings

No, I'm not so mad that I will stop speaking to you forever. I am not so selfish as to cut off my nose to spite my face, and prevent my children from seeing their grandparents, and all over a couple stupid rings. But I am so angry, more angry than I ever remember being. I feel disappointed in your greed. I feel that you betrayed Grandma's wishes with your silly selfishness and desire to impress other's with money.

But could you blame me if I did stop talking to you? Dad, how is this any different than you not speaking to your cousin for 15 years over a few household items? You were angry because he didn't follow your aunt's spoken wishes. (Make a will, people!) And I am angry for many more reasons. At least your cousin did it blatantly.

Mom, you lied about it. I asked why you weren't wearing the rings, and I cannot remember what you said, but it definitely wasn't "Daddy and I traded in your dead grandmother's wedding band and engagement ring to buy me this huge rock." What you had told us about your new ring was that you had traded in your wedding band and engagement ring. BIG difference. You say that you had no idea that we would care. If that is true, why would you have bothered to lie or cover it up? We are not stupid. Don't treat us like we are.

And then, Dad, you go and pull your grandmother's ring out of the safety deposit box, the one that you had given to Lisa years ago, then promptly taken back to put in the safety deposit box for safekeeping, as if Lisa couldn't possibly understand the sentimental value you had for an object that belonged to your grandmother. Ponder this, Daddy: How would you have felt if Grandma and Pop had taken your grandmother's ring and sold it? How would you feel if you never had the opportunity to give it to one of your daughters? Did it ever occur to you that Lisa or I might want to give our grandmother's ring to one of our children? That in selling that ring, you were taking a family heirloom away from Matilda or her future cousins?

Sure, Lisa and I have other things that belonged to Grandma; You graciously let us divide up all the [worthless, except for sentimental value) costume jewelry that she owned. I have the rings that you gave me when I moved to Denver. The little golden "bow" ring is one of my most cherished possessions, because Grandma always let me wear it. I treasure all of it. But Grandma always said that she wanted Lisa and me to have all of her rings when she was gone. When that time came, you told us that since Mom had worked so hard with taking care of Grandma and Pop, that you "wanted to let her wear grandma's rings."

Did you see Lisa and I disagree? No. You know why not? Because you said, "Let her wear," as in "borrow." Lisa and I love and respect Mom for all the work she has done with Grandma and Pop, and in no way begrudged her the wearing of Grandma's rings. Anyway, we knew that they would be ours one day. But if we had known that you were going to sell grandma's rings? Well, that is a different story. That possibility never even crossed our minds, because it would be such a slap in the face to us and to Grandma. What do you think Grandma would have thought about you selling her rings, instead of giving them to her granddaughters? She would have been really, really pissed off in the Butler way.

You can say that "the rings weren't worth anything" and "you didn't know we would even care." But if they weren't worth anything, then why let Mom wear the cheap pieces at all? Why trade them in at all? Their sentimental value far outweighs any pricetag you might attach to them.

You might have known that we cared if you had bothered to ask us. Why didn't you ask us? After all, they were supposed to be ours one day. Grandma said so. We do care. We would liked to have had her wedding rings. Not because they were diamonds. Because they were hers and we loved her and because that is what she wanted.

Dames, Dames

Seems Rollie likes Dames. "James," that is. Since when does he get to choose a favorite episode of Thomas the Tank Engine? And why did it have to be the one that we had just deleted from Tivo? And why did the resulting tantrum have to occur right next to Matilda, who had just fallen asleep five minutes before?

Back in Black

I had my 6 week post-partum checkup yesterday. This basically means that you go in and they ask you how you are doing (I have a newborn. How the fuck do you think I am doing?) and then they check your cervix. My cervix is fine, thanks for asking. This means that I get the okay for two important activities: Exercise and sexual intercourse. Woohoo! Todd is very excited about that second one. Sadly, I am more excited about getting to exercise. (Just kidding, Toddler.)

I started going back to the gym again this morning. I had not been since before having Matilda, and even then, I was just swimming, and not that hard at that. Boy, am I out of shape! It was great to be back, though, and like my friend Steph, Annie on endorphins is a much better human.

The drawback to having a newborn is that she is not able to go to the gym nursery until she is three months old. That means, for me to go to the gym, I have to have Todd watch her. That means, that i have to WORK OUT IN THE EARLY MORNING. [gasp] No, I am not kidding people. I worked out this morning before having coffee. I drove a CAR without having coffee. I spoke to that woman that takes your ID card at the desk, and she spoke back to me, and I did not rip her head off. For those of you that know me, this was a feat of unheard of proportions.

And I survived! I actually, once i got going, enjoyed watching all the morning gym rats, listening to Todd's IPod workout mix (Isn't listening to someone's playlist almost like peering into their private thoughts?), laughing at the thought of my oh-so-tough husband treadmilling it to Back In Black, and making fun in my head of Katie Couric on the Today Show. I came home and got a shower in before 9 am. And best of all? I don't have to spend the rest of the day worrying about how I am going to have to fit in a shower and a workout during the day.

I feel so accomplished! [Cue Back in Black.]

Pure Puke

We recently gave birth to our daughter, and named her Matilda. For those of you who have experienced the saga of choosing a name for your child, the name selection process begins early in the pregnancy and does not really end until you sign the child's name to the birth certificate papers at the hospital. But my thoughts have again turned to the choice we made for our little girl, prompted by the news that actors Heath Ledger and Michelle Williams also chose this name for their daughter, born just a few weeks after our own.

I experienced a moment of vindication at the news that famous people (those mavericks of the naming community) had chosen the same name Todd and I had chosen (and even picked a middle name, Rose, which we had considered for our Matilda's middle name). Take that, oh bitchy woman online who, when asked for her opinion on the name we were considering, forewent the commonly-acknowledged-online-babynaming-community phrase "NMS" or "Not my style" (meaning, "in a million years, I would never choose that hideous name for my child") choosing instead to use the much more acidic "in my opinion, that name is pure puke."

Seems Heath and Michelle didn't think it was pure puke either.

This elation at not knowing someone else didn't think Matilda was total spinster material quickly faded into slight unease at the thought that the name Matilda might actually become popular.

You see, there are two distinct camps in the baby naming world. There are those that love a name, and will pick it no matter how popular it is. The choose a name simply because the like it, and don't really concern themselves with how popular it is or isn't, or how popular it will or won't be in the future. Then there is a second group, who cringes at the thought that there will be another child with the same name as their child's when roll is taken in first grade. I am decidedly of that camp. When choosing my childrens' names, the top priority for me was that the name be unique. This is not to be confused with the "uneek" namers, who choose commonly used names, but then change the spelling. (See, Haley, Hailey, Halley, or Madison, Madyson, Madisen, etc.) For me, there was little point in naming a child something that will be used by numerous other children she will come across in the future. Isn't the purpose of a name to set a person or object apart from other people or objects?

So my child's name, Matilda, is suddenly spread all over US Weekly, Star, and People magazine. The name Matilda may end up being as talked about as Lourdes, Coco, or Apple. And that is not a good thing in the eyes of someone who was choosing a name based on how unused it has been in the last 50 years. Not only does it not break the top ten or top 100, but it has been in steady decline since the 1880s, and becomes almost non-existent after the 1960s.

At this point in time, Matilda is still quite unpopular. Just the way I like it. Will there be an upswing in Matildas in future years, prompted by it's sudden appearance in popular culture? I sure hope not. But it will be interesting to watch and see.

For a cool graphical display of a name's popularity over time, type a name into The Baby Name Voyager.

The Punk King

Bet you thought this was a really hip, insightful post about music. Not even close.

I love it when Rollie mispronounces words and they come out sounding like totally different words or phrases altogether. My current favorite: "punk king" for "pumpkin." In a similar vein, I also like "chick king" for "chicken." The francaise-sounding "chat" for "cat." The cowboy-influenced "doagie" for "doggie." And then there are what I call the "F" mispronunciations: "Pog" for "frog." "Peet" for "feet." "Pood" for "food." "Pall" for "fall." You get the picture.

But by far my favorite is pumpkin mispronounced. I love to drive my (bitchin') van and hear Rollie repeating "punk king, punk king" as I drive by houses with pumpkins still out front. I am going to miss that next year. Or maybe, if I'm very lucky, Matilda will mispronounce "pumpkin" as "punk queen."

Anything is possible.

Pride

There are many different kinds of pride. There is pride in one's own accomplishments. There is pride in one's children. And then there is the pride one feels at being acknowledged for their accomplishments by the one person whose opinion means more than anyone else's. Thank you for saying, "I'm proud of you for sticking with it." I needed to hear it.

Something Else About Breastfeeding

It occurred to me recently that breastfeeding is really conducive to reading poetry. It is also well-suited for sitting in the dark and picking your nose with your free hand.

Mother

FUCKER.

Auburn 31 Georgia 30

The Child Divided

Today is the day that Todd and I get up in the morning, and barely speak to one another.
See, Todd married a Georgia Bulldog fan; and I married an Auburn Tiger. After we have our coffee, we move on to pointed barbs, and disparaging one another's states of origin. I might mention something about Auburn not being focused enough to pick just one damn mascot. Why do they need both a tiger and an eagle? I guess they are so ineffectual that it takes two. On any other day of the year, I would make fun of him by saying that I married a band geek from Alabama. And a tuba player, no less! He would respond testily that it was a sousaphone. Oh, yes, much sexier, Dear.

This has all been fun and games until 2003. The year of Rollie. You see, to marry the fan of a rival SEC team is to marry someone of a different religion. And as in the case of two people of differing religions marrying, it is not until children come into the picture that a problem arises. In which religion will the children be reared?

And so it comes to a boil on this one day of the year - the Georgia Auburn game. (Todd would prefer I call it "the Auburn Georgia game," but this is my damn blog, thank you very much.) We take turns changing the poor child from his Auburn shirt to his Georgia shirt and back again. Both his hats are out, ready to be interchanged at each possession. Having two children's wardrobe changes to contend with this year should really keep us hopping. And for days ahead of the game, we whisper to Rollie, when the other is out of earshot, those sacred words of old: "Gooooooooooooooooo DAWGS! Sic'em! WOOFWOOFWOOF!!!!!" and "Waaaaaaaaarrrrr Eagle!!" Todd has wisely not progressed to the more oft used "War Damn Eagle!" I mean, come on. Rollie might have trouble with three syllables.

And so it is that our mismatched allegiances have thoroughly confused Rollie. At dinner last night, I proceeded to whisper to Rollie to "tell Daddy 'Go Dawgs.'" Todd caught what I said and quickly interjected with a stern look at Rollie, "Rollie, War Eagle."

Rollie responded with a proud smile: "War Doggie."

Boobs, Boobs, Boobs, Annie's Boobs

Boy, I feel like all i do is talk about my boobs lately. . . .

I saw the lactation consultant this morning. Breastfeeding has been going moderately well. (Matilda is eating tons and gaining weight.) Unfortunately, the nipple soreness is not getting much better. I waited four weeks to see the LC, because a) I saw three of them in the hospital and all three said her latch looked "perfect" and that the soreness would go away in two weeks and b) every one of my breastfeeding friends said that it took them 2 weeks to 6 weeks to have the soreness go away completely.

However, at four weeks + a few days, I am not feeling like there has been tons of improvement. My nipples still seems red, swollen, bruised, and blistered with no end in sight. So, I bit the bullet and made an appointment (at $90 dollars/hr - not covered by my insurance company, those asses). I saw Sandey, whom I also saw when having breastfeeding difficulties with Rollie. She is GREAT. She evaulated our latch and position once again, and again, said that it looked like I was "doing everything right." It appears that it's Matilda's fault that breastfeeding is not the enjoyable experience that everyone is promising it will be.

It turns out that Matilda has a "tight suck," which, unlike a "strong suck," is not a positive thing. She came out of me with the little blister on her upper lip, meaning she had been in the womb sucking her fingers, and learned to suck those small fingers, and so tries to suck like that on my nipple. Her latch appears correct. She flanges both lips correctly, and opens her mouth wide enough, although she did say that Matilda's mouth is pretty small. But, evidently, she sucks with the gum and front part of her mouth, rather than with her jaw. You can't tell this by looking at her when she is on the breast. She also has a "high upper palate," which means that she pushes the nipple up with her tongue or gums and it gets a "beveled" look after a feeding. (It looks like a ski slope or a geometric shape - hard to explain, but trust me, it hurts.)

So, to make a long story short, Sandey recommends that Matilda receive occupational therapy evaluation and then therapy to correct her suck. Basically, the Occupational Therapist will evaluate her suck, then recommend some exercises for me to do three times a day to improve her jaw motion. They want her to suck like she is chewing gum. All in all, it was a great consultation, because she validated that I was indeed doing things correctly, and it wasn't me, or anything I had done wrong. It is just the nature of Matilda's suck that is causing problems.

Then came the fun part. Call the pediatrician's office to get them to write a prescription for occupational therapy (which I am sure they will question), then get them to fax it to Sandey. Call the insurance company to find out how many visits are covered. Insurance company informs me that the Occupation Therapist needs to call them and get them to fax a pre-certification form to them, then explain why the therapy is necessary, then fax it back to the insurance company, who then reviews it and decides whether or not to authorize it. Blah, blah, blah.

So, now i am waiting to hear back from Sandey about the Occupational Therapist. It is 4 pm on Friday. Doubt I will hear a thing today. [Sigh.]

The fun part of my appointment was having Matilda weighed. They weigh her at the beginning of the appointment, after feeding from one breast, and then after feeding from the second breast. She was 7 lbs, 6 oz at birth, then went down to 7 lbs, 3 oz at discharge from the hospital. At her 2 week followup appointment, she was 8 lbs even. And now, at almost 5 weeks, she weighed 9 lbs, 13 oz! I was so proud of my ability to feed her! Turns out that she took 5.5 oz during the feeding, bringing her ending weight up to 10 lbs, 2.5 oz when we were done!

Way to go, Annie's boobs!

Another Thing They Don't Tell You About Breastfeeding. . .

You spend like 8 hours a day breastfeeding. And I don't know about other people, but my back is KILLING me. Okay, I don't have the best posture, but i do while I'm feeding Matilda, because they stress that when you're learning, so I always sit up straight and don't hunch over her, but my back is still killing. And it only gets worse when I have her in the sling, or the bjorn, or flung over my shoulder, which is the other 17 hours of the day.

Ow.

What is the La Leche League's take on painkillers and muscle relaxants?

Sweetie, I Love You. No Ifs, Ands, or Buts . . . .

We had decided earlier in the week that Todd and Rollie would leave Thursday evening and go down to visit his parents in Auburn. (Well, actually, they now live 20 minutes outside of Auburn in Dadeville, on Lake Martin.) Todd suggested that this might give me a break, since I would only be taking care of one child at a time, and it would give me more freedom to get out of the house, since carting a newborn is (I see now that I have a toddler) immensely easier than wrangling a toddler in parking lots.

I quickly agreed to this suggestion, as Rollie would get tons of attention from the grandparents, MeeMaw (his great-grandmother), and Aunt Sherry, who would be in town for the weekend. Also, my mother was planning on being in town to help Lisa and I address Lisa's wedding invitations on Thursday night. She said she would stay with me on Friday night, so in my mind, I would be with Mom and Lisa on Thursday night, then Mom would be with me on Friday night, and then I would just have to get through Saturday night on my own. It probably sounds ridiculous, the thought of a veteran mom being scared to stay alone with a 4-week old baby, but really, i have very good reason. Matilda turns into a DEVIL BABY at sundown. You do not want to be caught alone with her. Not without your holy water.

Todd arrived home on Thursday afternoon and began packing Rollie's things. (This does not require much packing, as my mother-in-law likes to be eternally prepared for the visit of a grandchild, to the point that if a stranger entered her house on a random day that said grandchild was not visiting, the stranger would still assume that a child lived there. It is always prepared for visits, from the full-on nursery, down to the highchair in the kitchen with a crisp clean bib folded neatly on the tray, just waiting to ensnare a little neck. We really only have to bring the naked child and all other necessities [and a whole lot of not so necessary things] are provided for us, free of charge.)

It was at this point that my sister called to inform me that Mom was here, but that Dad had called and our grandfather, Pop, was not doing well. He had taken a fall, and Mom was going to spend the night and then return home on Friday morning. Well, I must admit that I felt somewhat apprehensive about not one, but two, evenings alone with the Spawn of Satan. Really, it is three nights, since i wasn't planning on spending the night with Lisa. I told Todd that maybe I should just go with him to Auburn, so I don't have to deal with her all by myself. I could tell that he wasn't too jazzed about this idea. (Let's be honest, shall we Dear? In going to Auburn, you get to pawn Rollie off on the 'rents, and head into town on Saturday to watch the game with the boys! You might even spend the night. I understand. I would do the same thing. But let's just call a spade a spade - this "give Annie a break from two kids" arrangement is, shall we say, "mutually beneficial.") I toyed with the idea of asking him to stay home, but thought that seemed ridiculously wimpy. I mean, how much havoc can one 8 pound body wreak on an able-bodied, sound of mind adult?

Oh, how I underestimated the little featherweight!

Todd and Rollie and Matilda and I all left the house at the same time. She proceeded to cry her guts out from the exit of our neighborhood, through downtown, all the way to Lisa's apartment. She chilled out as soon as she was in my Mom's arms, of course, because she never reveals to outsiders that she is indeed evil; part of her insidious evil is that she only reveals it to her haunted parents, or any unfortunate soul who is forced to spend an extended evening period with them. Soon enough, though, the jig was up - she could conceal her angst no longer and spewed forth with an exorcist-calibre crying jag. We made it through dinner and me addressing 14 invitations before we were kindly asked to vacate the premises.

We returned home in time to get in a feeding, with the hopes that we might get some sleep after that. Nope! We cried again for 45 minutes, during which time I put in a teary-eyed call to the Johnsons (phone off the hook - foiled by Rollie!) where I again put her on the boob, then called my mom at my sister's for support. They wanted to know if they could come over, but I was just too embarrassed at having the breakdown to take them up on it, plus, I knew they both needed rest, too. I then left a near-hysterical-sounding crying message on Todd's cellphone, really knowing he wouldn't get it.

I finally managed to get her to sleep after another two sessions on the boob. This was about 1 am. She then woke up at 4am, and again at 6am. I went back to sleep after the 6am feeding and she slept well, but I was awakened by my mom arriving at 8 or so to check on me.

I decided there was no way i would call Todd and ask him to come home. I went to the mall, just to get out of the house, and by the time I got there, i had to go directly in and feed her. then, I went to find something to eat. She cried the whole time I was bolting down my food. We walked around for a while, and she dozed off in the stroller while I looked around. (They have Christmas stuff out already! Sick!) I then realized that I had just enough time to get to the car, drive home, and feed her. I (like an idiot) took the downtown connector at 2:30pm on a Friday. I hit the wall of traffic downtown, at which point Matilda woke up and cried for the next hour. And who could blame her? She was hungry.

Got home, fed her, and then she slept for about an hour. Then she woke up, had a feeding, and began the evening cry-a-thon. Inconsolable crying for hours. This was the low point, where I walked about the house in the fading light, crying my eyes out, and debating my options for ways of preventing me from jumping out of a window. My mom was back home. Lisa and Mark were at a tasting for their wedding menu. Todd was in Auburn, with plans to see his Aunt Sherry that evening (we only see her about once a year), and plans for Saturday night to ditch Rollie and watch football with his buddies.

This was the low point, the point where I called him and asked him to come home. I had debated back and forth. On the one hand, I knew I wasn't absolutely going to go crazy and kill myself and Matilda, but on the other hand, I needed Todd. I was tired, depressed, and frankly, very, very lonely. I think that is the realization that I have taken from this weekend. Todd was trying to do me a favor, giving me a break from Rollie, and some time alone. But what i needed was companionship. I spend all week by myself (with two kids, but they don't count), and come the weekend, I am looking forward to having him around. This is pretty difficult for me to say: That I needed someone there. I am an independent woman! I rarely need someone! But here I am, saying it out loud (and on the Internet): I needed you, Todd.

And I think that I need to make an effort to get out and meet more people in our area. People with kids, and people who stay home with those kids. Sure, it will be a month or so before I can take Matilda any and everywhere, but I need to make an effort. I never want to feel so lonely again.

So, Todd, I am sorry that I took you away from your friends. You know how much I support your need to get out with your friends (and you support mine), so I really, really wouldn't have asked you if I didn't really need you.

I love you so much for not asking questions, and just asking if you needed to come home that night. I love you for coming home and folding me in your arms. I love you for being the husband, father, and friend that I knew you were when I married you, and for being so much more that I never imagined.

Love,
Annie

Things I Never Imagined Myself Saying

"Do I smell like milk to you? Smell this. Does it smell like sour milk? I think I smell like sour breastmilk."

Adventures with Rollie

Okay, Rollie. I admit it: It is really fun to play stuffed-animal-hair-salon while drying my own hair. The Hippo really needed a blowout - He was looking kind of frizzy. And I especially love it when you look on like the proud parent and then smile appreciatively when I finish styling one of them and hand them to you.

Now, where is my tip?

Halloween in the Hood

This was the first year that Rollie was able to really walk from door to door for Halloween, so we decided to take him around the subdivision for some trick or treating. We had him all dressed up in his Batman outfit, sans mask, which he refused to keep on. I managed to get the pumpkin carved about 15 minutes before dark fell. I looked like a public service announcement for pumpkin carving safety: What Not to Do; Here i am with a long sharp knife in one hand, gripping the pumpkin with my other, Rollie running around bumping into and rattling the table with his Little Tykes "white trash" car, and Matilda in the sling between me and the knife and pumpkin. It was TRES safe.

Todd arrived home and we went over the lingo with Rollie before sending him out with Daddy: "Trick or Treat," which Rollie says and it sounds like he is saying, "Teat." We went outside (at this point, Todd had Matilda in the sling, and I was setting the pumpkin up on the porch) and took some pics to commemorate the occasion. The sun had just gone down and the kids were starting to come out for the festivities. I was reminded that my Mom used to call the trick or treaters "spooks," but I didn't quite feel comfortable in my neighborhood, calling all the little African American kids "spooks," no matter how innocuously i meant it. (I am not at all sure that innocuously is a word, now that I am reading it.) We rushed to get a few photo ops of Rollie, but he was so mesmerized by all of the big kids running around in their costumes (or lack thereof, but i will get to that in a moment) that he would barely sit still, much less look at the camera.

I took Matilda from Todd, and put her in the sling, then kissed Rollie goodbye, and sent them on their way. I watched from the porch, as my little boy, holding Daddy's hand, walked down the driveway into the twilight. (I thought about using, "gloaming" here, but just couldn't bring myself to sound that pretentious.) I think that i will never forget the beauty of that moment, the rush of memories from my childhood, comingled with the feeling of entering unchartered territory as a parent, all played out against the backdrop of children's laughter, and chants of Trick or Treat.

Matilda and I retired to the rocking chair on the porch, occasionally getting up to give candy to the trick or treaters, or chatting in the drive with the neighbors, Christine, Colin and Jeff, and Colin and Jeff's cock-a-poo puppy Jackson Duvall. (No, I am not kidding. That is the pup's name.) It is interesting to see how different Halloween is in this less-affluent-than-where-I-grew-up neighborhood. Okay, this neighborhood is not affluent at all. Our subdivision itself is, but the surrounding area is "transitional" or currently being "gentrified," or whatever the buzzword for "gay couples and young professionals are buying houses here and fixing them, property values are rapidly rising, and there is much dissension over property taxes." But the average joe, the long-time residents, are probably below or at poverty level.

I am reminded, every year at Halloween, of the first year I lived in East Atlanta, in our old house, and I was walking the dog on Halloween afternoon. I ran into the little girl down the street, who was about six. She was playing on the sidewalk, and I stopped so that she could pet the dog, Quint, and I asked her if she was excited about Halloween. She dejectedly said, "No." I asked, "Why not?" "I'm not going trick or treating," she says. I said, "Why," with a sense of dread already about her answer. "Grandma doesn't let us trick or treat. We turn off the lights at dark and pretend we aren't home." I will never forget that little girl and the realization that not all children have even Halloween, something that took totally for granted my whole childhood. That night, I was even more disillusioned about the state of Halloween in the Hood when the trick or treaters began knocking on the door. By trick or treaters, I mean kids and adults of all ages, knocking on the door, without costumes, to get candy. I am not sure whether it is that the kids (mostly the boys) think they are too "cool" for costumes, but many of them aren't even wearing a costume. Maybe their families can't afford them. If you ask the one in the Falcons jersey what he is, he will tell you he's Michael Vick. A plus is that the fews kids who are wearing costumes are wearing homemade ones, which are always more fun than the store-bought kind. Some of the smaller kids still have that Halloween gleam in their eye, that look that everything around them seems magical, the look that I remember having at Halloween. But for the most part, they just knock, and look at you blankly, mumbling a peremptory trick or treat, and then, when you give them a piece of candy, they ask for seconds.

Todd has a real problem with the "no costume, but i get candy anyway" mentality. He was upset with me, because I had bought all "good stuff." His Halloween handing out candy strategy is to buy half good stuff (individually-wrapped Hershey's and Nestle brand candy), half cheap stuff (dumdums, tootsie rolls, etc.) You give the good stuff to those in costumes, the cheap stuff to those not in costumes. This is a turnabout, because usually I am the hardass and he is the softie. But, in my mind, if your family can't afford a costume from the dollar store, and your parents can't be bothered to help you put something homemade together as a costume, then at least I can give you a Reese's, instead of a dumdum.

Todd and Rollie came back about an hour later, Rollie with a dumdum in his mouth, and a handful of candy in one hand, pumpkin candy basket in the other. We went inside and hastily heated up dinner, occasionally answering the door to give out more candy, and with Todd telling me about Rollie's first trick or treating experience. It seems that at one house, that of the two girls down the street with the Auburn flag on the porch, they opened the door and Rollie decided to forego the traditional "trick or treat" and just decided to invite himself in and proceed to climb their stairs. In the style of the childless everywhere, Todd said they looked as if they didn't know whether to go pick him up or not, and Todd said that he wasn't sure what the protocol was for retrieving your uninvited toddler from someone's home, so there was an awkward pause where Rollie was just exploring the girls' house. Todd also said that our neighbors across the street, Kevin and Rob, had friends over for Halloween, and they were pumping techno throughout the house, and when they opened the door, one of the friends was wearing a sailor outfit or somesuch.

You gotta love Halloween in the Hood.