I'm Ready For My Magic Wand Now... Right Now!

I'm ready for my magic wand now. You know.... the magic wand that you wave over your kids and that keeps them little forever. Where can I get one? What I wouldn't give to make these days last just a little longer.

I watched my boys fall asleep last night, and I couldn't stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks. I guess every mom has a meltdown or two or forty like this, but it hit me like a ton of Legos that my babies are growing up. My boys are now four and three -just a few short years away from braces and Little League and summer camp and incredibly awkward school pictures- but we are having so much fun together in this stage of early childhood.

Trips to the grocery store and other public outings aren't nearly as traumatic as they were a couple years ago (back when I thought it was absolutely necessary to load up two diaper bags, a Pack N Play, lullaby CDs, and enough Goldfish to end world hunger, just for a quick trip to Food Lion). My little angels are also learning that the food pyramid doesn't consist solely of Easy Mac and fruit snacks (chicken fries count as a protein, right?). And best of all, they shower me with kisses and hugs and "I love yous" until I feel like my heart will burst. I'd be perfectly content to freeze the clock and chase Indian summer with these two little mischief makers and their Daddy for the rest of my days.

If only I could....

No matter how much we as parents wish time wouldn't taunt us and float away like a leaf in the wind, we can't stop it. We can't even slow it. We can only squeeze the most out of the minutes we have right now....

Right Now- a precious, priceless gift from God that I often choose to squander on meaningless activities instead of investing it in my children.

Right Now- a split second to say "yes" to good and "no" to evil.

Right Now- a fleeting chance to distinguish between the temporary and the eternal.

Right Now- the tick tock tick tock that all too soon turns into yesterday and might-have-been.

Oh, how the Lord is convicting me about my misuse and abuse of Right Now! I spend time like it's unlimited and refundable; I waste precious minutes on Candy Crush and Facebook and Pinterest and Netflix like I have forever at my fingertips; I foolishly continue my pursuit of more when I have all I need hopping up and down in front of me, tugging at my shirt and asking me to read them a book.

There are a million and one ways to wave goodbye to time, but I'm learning, little by little, that any moment shared with my sons is time well-spent.

Dollar General Jam Session

Is it just me, or are Dollar General stores popping up EVERYWHERE? Honestly, it's like they build them during the night while the rest of the town is asleep. I can't count how many times I've passed by a Dollar General in recent months and thought, "When did THAT get there?" It seems like we have a DG on every street corner in Wayne County now.

Don't get me wrong- I love a good dollar store just as much as Dora the Explorer loves to explore and ask questions. Especially when said dollar store offers semi-non-cheesy greeting cards (without typos!) for 2/$1. Especially when said dollar store has a clearance section. Especially when said dollar store offers basic groceries that (A) don't bear expiration dates from before I graduated from high school (here's looking at you, Big Lots) and (B) don't look like they were hauled around in the bed of a '77 Chevy down a 100-mile stretch of dirt roads (cough cough, Ollie's). Especially when said dollar store is a Dollar General!

I'm pretty positive I inherited my love for Dollar General from my mother. She is the DG Queen!! She says she doesn't have access to "The Back" of Dollar General (you know, the warehouse area of stores where employees like to hoard all the good stuff), but seriously, she finds the best stuff in there that no one else can find. She recently showed up at my house with a cool pair of Navy flats that, I kid you not, looked JUST LIKE TOMS. My mother? Wearing Toms? Oh no, this can't be happening! I don't even own a pair of Toms yet.

"Mom, I didn't know you had a pair of Toms!" I said, pointing at her shoes.

"Eight bucks, Dollar General!" she exclaimed with a snazzy snap of her fingers. "And who's Tom?"

Another time she brought me an adorable set of owl garden ornaments. Cutest things I've ever laid eyes on. Three guesses where she got them? Dollar General, baby! For less than a #7 combo at McDonald's, of course.

So anyway, I guess it was my mother's godly influence that sent me to Dollar General earlier this week when I needed aluminum foil. It was my youngest son's 3rd birthday, and we had made big plans to grill out. I wasn't really in a hurry, so I grabbed a cart on my way in. (Can I just interrupt myself here and admit that getting a cart instead of one of those handheld baskets is a pretty big financial commitment? It just screams, "I'm here for more than just milk and bread. I'm here to find THE DEALS!")

I started browsing and adding a few things to my cart: SpongeBob hand soap for $1? Don't mind if I do. My favorite TRESemme hairspray for $3? I think I'll take two, please. Batman pj's for my boys that will probably fit a Ken doll after one washing? Why not?

I had quite a cart load of bargains by the time I finally noticed it, and boy, did it snap me out of my retail therapy reverie. The music they were playing in the store.... why was it so loud? And it sounded like two guys having a competition to see who could be more obnoxious- the one banging on drums or the other one screaming incoherent phrases into a microphone. I was annoyed, but I decided to give the DG disc jockey the benefit of the doubt. Surely this was just a bad song choice on Bob 93.3, and we would be right back to Kenny G and Adele after the heavy metal shouting match was over.

Folks, that didn't happen.

In fact, the next song started up even louder and more annoying than the first. The only way I can think to describe it is: if electric guitars and drums could give birth, that song would be the sounds they made while in labor WITH QUADRUPLETS.

My heart started racing in time with the awful beat, beads of sweat speckled my forehead. Oh no, Dollar General, this is not what I wish to be serenaded by while I shop! Don't you understand that shopping without kids is the Mommy equivalent of a Sandals vacation? Are you trying to run me out of the store without buying anything? I have a cart, for Pete's sake. I'M NOT JUST HERE FOR BREAD AND MILK!

I started searching for an employee- anyone with a yellow shirt and black pants that could turn the music off and put those guitars out of their misery. The only person I could find was a sweet-looking senior citizen working at the register, and since she had a line full of customers (mostly basket shoppers) I decided not to bother her. I resolved to get my aluminum foil and get the heck outta dodge, before a migraine set in.

As my luck would have it, I couldn't find aluminum foil ANYWHERE! But then again, being blasted with Annoying Anthems of a Head Banger didn't exactly have me in the best frame of mind. I finally located the aluminum foil (located right below a loud speaker, of course), and pushed my cart to the check-out line.

Bless her heart, sweet Granny At The Register was doing the best she could. But a customer trying to pay part debit/part cash was a just a little too much for her cashier skillz. She consulted a black binder for about forty-five hours and punched quite a few numbers into the computer until somehow -miraculously- the transaction went through. When the next customer in line presented Granny with a pastel housedress without the price tag, I was about done with DG. I was ready to abandon my cart of bargains (don't judge- you know you've done it before) and just pay $7 for foil at the BP down the road.

But something stopped me and kept me in that line of weary shoppers. I knew I wasn't leaving that store until someone heard what I had to say about their choice of music. (Plus, who was I kidding? I really really needed that hairspray.)

Finally, it was my turn. I began unloading my items onto the counter, and summoned every ounce of Southern dignity and grace in my body. I decided to be polite even though I was none too happy about being run outta there before I had a chance to check out the greeting cards. "Excuse me, ma'am," I began politely. "How do you work here with that loud music? It makes me wanna pull my hair out!"

Granny stopped scanning my items and peered at me over her bifocals. "Everybody keeps complaining about it. I guess it's a little too loud." She shrugged, then went back to scanning and bagging my purchases. Everyone behind me in line stood quietly. If it hadn't of been for the Sons of Lucifer screeching in the background, you could've heard a pin drop.

That went well.

I collected my bags and ran out of that Dollar General, determined to never return again.

Panama Trip- Part 1

In May, one of our family dreams became a reality.... we went to Panama! For those of you who might not know, Panama is a tiny, beautiful country located at the southernmost tip of Central America....

 

 

 

(I know Geography's not the most exciting subject in the world, but I was appalled by how many people had NO CLUE where Panama is located. Before we left, I mentioned to several people (read: everyone I came into contact with) that I was getting ready for a big Panama vacation with my family. One man replied, "Panama....that's over by the Philippines, right?" Another said, "Have a great time in Florida!" And yet another commented, "I know! That's where the Suez Canal is located!"

Not cool, people, not cool. Let's think outside the box a little, shall we?)

My handsome husband is from Panama, and ever since I met him, I've wanted to visit his country and see where he was raised. Due to work and finances and the Baby Boom of '09-'10, we've never been able to go. But this year, we were determined NOTHING would stop us. (I almost ordered us t-shirts that said "Panama or Bust." True story.) Since Fernando's dad's birthday is on May 13th, and Fernando's birthday is on May 15th, we decided May 12th through the 27th would be a brilliant time to go. Fernando's nieces were also planning to visit us through May 12th, so we would be returning to Panama with them.

We had everything planned out, but as the day approached for our departure, I started feeling just a teeny, tad bit PANICKED about getting to Panama. Google and I became good buddies as I searched for tips and tricks for travelling in an airplane with toddlers. (Apparently checking children in with the luggage is frowned upon by most airlines.... ha!) We heard from friends that Nabis (tablets for kids) were wonderful tools that would keep even the most hyper of children entertained for hours, so of course we had to have two of those. (eBay!) Terrified that the kids' ears would pop, I bought enough Bubblicious gum to keep every passenger on our flight smacking all the way to Panama. By the time our departure date arrived, I had collected candy, coloring books, stickers, crayons, small toys, and -though it pains me to admit this to the world- PACIFIERS! That's right, folks, I stocked up on two packs of my boys' favorite pacis. Enzo had pretty much stopped asking for his paci, but I wanted to be prepared for anything. If my kids were gonna be screaming banshees on the plane, I needed to have a plan of action. If a paci wouldn't calm 'em down, nothing would.

Fernando's nieces, Karla and Stephy, arrived on May 8th. Fernando was working, so the boys and I went to the airport to pick them up. I figured it would be a stellar opportunity to point out the airplanes and prepare the boys for our journey. When we pulled up in front of the pick-up area, Enzo started freaking out. "Where are we going, Mom? What is this place? I don't want to get on the plane. I don't want to get on the plane. I. DON'T. WANT. TO. GET. ON. THE. PLANE!" I patiently answered each question and assured him that the airport is a super cool place! And we were going to have so much fun on the plane! And Papa was waiting for him in Panama! He wasn't too convinced and was still white-knuckling his car seat by the time Stephy and Karla got in the car. Luckily, seeing the girls made him forget his fears, and he turned on his full-blown Enzo charm. I, however, knew that I had less than five days to get Enzo on board with the Panama trip. Emotionally AND physically.

We really enjoyed our time together with Stephy and Karla. Enzo and Gabriel HAD to introduce their cousins to one of their favorite places- Marbles Kids Museum. I'm not sure if the girls were quite as impressed....

 

The boys fell in love with their cousins....

 

And I LOVED taking them to all the hot spots in Goldsboro (i.e.: Walmart & Chick-Fil-A & my favorite pedicure place).

Their time with us flew by, and before we knew it, D-Day (Departure Day) had arrived.

Our flight was scheduled to leave at noon on Mother's Day, so at least we didn't have to wake up two toddlers before the crack of dawn. Fernando crammed everything into our SUV, then we squeezed ourselves in between the suitcases, and we were off! I am fully aware that we looked like the Clampetts all the way to RDU airport. The ride to Raleigh was uneventful, probably because we barely had room to breathe. Or maybe God in His infinite wisdom and mercy was just giving me a few moments of peace and quiet before the debacle that was to come.

The calm before the storm........

Bruschetta!! (Guelfi Style)

We love bruschetta at our house! It is super easy to make, and if you throw some grilled chicken or shrimp with it, you've got a delicious, healthy meal. My husband requested bruschetta for our Fourth of July festivities (he's part Italian- LOL), and since I found some BEAUTIFUL Roma tomatoes at the grocery store, it was the perfect time to make it!

Ingredients

-8-10 Roma tomatoes (washed)
-1/2 red onion
-fresh basil leaves
-minced garlic
-olive oil
-salt and pepper
-fresh loaf of bread (I like to use French bread from the bakery)

*****(Sorry I forgot to put the bread in the pic! Fail! I also didn't take step-by-step pics... Never claimed to be a food blogger! Just wanted to share a favorite family recipe.)*****

How to make it:

Start with the tomatoes. I usually remove the seeds/watery part of each tomato, and then dice the rest. (You don't want it to be too watery.) Toss diced tomatoes into a large bowl. Dice the onion into itty-bitty pieces. I normally only use about 1/3 to 1/2 of the onion when I make it, but you could add more if you want a stronger onion flavor. Add diced onion to the tomatoes in the bowl. Roll up the basil leaves and chop into tiny pieces (a little basil goes a LONG way. I normally use 5-6 leaves, but again, you could add more). Add basil to the tomatoes and onion. Next, add a spoonful of minced garlic, and stir everything together. (You could also use fresh garlic of course, but AIN'T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR DAT!) After the veggies are mixed well, add olive oil. I would estimate about 1/4 cup, but you may need more or less depending how you like it. Finally, add salt and pepper to taste. After the tomato mixture is done, I usually cover it with plastic wrap and keep it in the fridge while I toast the bread. Slice the bread into thin slices (about 1/4 inch) and toast on a cookie sheet for 2-3 minutes at 375. You can toast longer if you like a crunchier bread. Serve toasted bread on a platter with the bruschetta on the side.

 

 

And that, my friends, is how we spent Fourth of July at our Panamanian/Italian/American household!Not very traditional fare for Independence Day, but it was delizioso!

Teenage Burglars!

I always thought we lived in a safe neighborhood. I have never felt afraid to take a walk, even at night, or to let my boys play outside. Although we wave at our neighbors and are happy to lend a helping hand, most of us in Heron Creek keep to ourselves. The most excitement I've witnessed in the past six years we've lived here involved a couple of thrill-seekers on crotch rockets who blazed through the neighborhood during my kids' naptime (good thing I didn't know how to handle a handgun when that happened... totally kidding!). Or my neighbors who apparently spend two months' salary on fireworks whenever the 4th of July rolls around (thank God the Saulston fire department is only a stone's throw away). For the most part, things are quiet and calm here, and we like it that way.
 
A couple months ago, we learned the hard way that we had become too trusting. It was a typical Thursday morning- Fernando kissed me goodbye and walked out the door for work, only to return less than a minute later. "Someone got in our cars last night," he said. He was ticked (by ticked, I mean that his face was red as a chili pepper and The Vein in his temple was throbbing double-time), and I, for lack of a better term, FREAKED OUT. Of course my mind started playing out the absolute worst scenario of what had happened during the night while we were peacefully sleeping. Before my husband had even assessed what was missing from our cars, I was convinced that every East Coast member of the Bloods and the Crips had targeted us, and that they would be back later (with machetes and machine guns, of course) to get the rest of the goods in our house.

"We have to call the police" I said, with complete confidence that a quick call to 911 would dispatch a CSI crew who would dust the cars for fingerprints and have the burglars behind bars by sundown.

Fernando scoffed at my suggestion. "What are the police going to do? We left the cars unlocked."

I was shocked. How was it possible that we'd both left our cars unlocked? Fernando is always so careful to lock everything up before we go to bed. I was thankful that our cars hadn't been damaged, but still felt shaken and angry that strangers had intruded on our property and taken our stuff.

We finally figured out that Fernando's big speaker was missing from his car, and our GPS and $10 cash were missing from my car. It wasn't a huge loss- certainly not enough to merit an insurance claim, but I still decided to call the police, just in case other cars in the neighborhood had also been burglarized.

Fernando went on to work, hoping that the thieves would show up with our stuff at the pawn shop where he works. (Now wouldn't THAT have been a story?) I put in a call to the police department's non-emergency line and reported what had happened. A lady took all of the information and told me that an officer would contact me later.

Days went by, and we never heard anything back. I was certain our stuff was long gone, and that the Bloods and the Crips were using our GPS to pinpoint the location of their next innocent victims. Luckily, my sister who follows the Wayne County Sheriff's Department on Facebook, commented that she'd seen a post on their page about Saulston break-ins. There was a number for people to call if their cars had been burglarized. I quickly called my husband, who had also heard about the post from a co-worker. (Thank goodness for Facebook!)

To make a long story short, Fernando called the number and relayed the same information that I had reported weeks before. He learned that the police had found the thieves (teenagers!!) and had already tracked down some of the stolen items. Although the GPS and cash were not recovered, Fernando did get his speaker back. We also received a letter in the mail requesting our info so that we could further press charges against the little teenage wannabe thugs. The letter also listed the name of one of the perpetrators. (He actually has a weird name, but I'll call him "Jim Bob.") Hmmmm. It took me all of a millisecond to whip out my laptop and search for Jim Bob on Facebook. I wanted to see who had trespassed onto our property; I wanted to see who had stolen not only our personal items, but also our sense of security and trust in our neighborhood.

Because of the weird name, it didn't take long to find Jim Bob. (Again, THANK GOODNESS FOR FACEBOOK!)  In fact, I had several mutual friends with Jim Bob! I had to laugh as I scrolled through pic after pic of a scrawny teenager who looked like he was still stuck in the awful throes of adolescence. (Here's a little helpful hint for any would-be burglars reading this: If you decide to live the life of a true outlaw, it might be a good idea to delete your Facebook account or at least set your Facebook profile to PRIVATE!!) I was even surprised to read several posts by Jim Bob about how he had (in my Christian translation) "messed" up his life by one bad decision. Fernando wanted me to send him a private message and tell him he had 24 hours to return his GPS, or else.... :)

As much anger as I had felt towards the burglars over the previous weeks, I now felt sorry for this young man. He is only fifteen years old, still a kid in many aspects, and yet he has already charted a rough course for the rest of his life. I thought about his mother. I won't lie- it was hard not to judge her and question why she would allow her fifteen-year-old son to be out gallivanting with such a rough crowd in the middle of the night. She should have known exactly where little Jim Bob was and what he was doing, right?

But how would I feel if one of my sons had been caught breaking the law? What would I do? My boys are still toddlers, yet I still feel like an utter parenting failure when they act up in the church nursery. Although it was tempting to pile most of the blame on Jim Bob's mom, who was I to assume she hadn't done the best she could as a parent?

We can put every drop of our blood, sweat, and tears into raising our kids up "right," but eventually they will be free to make their own decisions. Eventually we won't be able to dictate their every move. We can follow every suggestion in the best parenting books, we can punish them when they do wrong, and we can pray for them without ceasing. But there's still no absolute assurance that our kids will turn out to be "good" adults. For me, this is the hardest part about being a parent. When the nurse placed my tiny newborn in my arms for the first time, I had no idea that I was taking on the greatest responsibility in all the world. I wasn't given any clear-cut instructions or promised any guaranteed results that my little innocent baby wouldn't turn out to be a teenage burglar who makes bad decisions...just like scrawny, awkward, struggling-to-fit-in Jim Bob.   

Although I'm still shocked that cars in our neighborhood were burglarized and I wish it wouldn't have happened, I did take away some pretty valuable life lessons. First of all, NEVER LEAVE YOUR CAR UNLOCKED. But more importantly, NEVER LEAVE YOUR CHILD UNATTENDED. I hope that I will spend the remainder of my boys' formative years with a renewed fervor to put them first.

5 Lessons I Learned from My Mother-in-Law (AKA- 5 Reasons Why I Miss Her Very Much)

My heart pounded as I entered the crowded restaurant. Within seconds I would meet my boyfriend's parents for the first time, and I felt like I needed a quick trip to the ladies' room to get myself together. Before I had a chance to turn around, I spotted my man waving at me over a potted plant. I waved back and willed myself to walk in his direction. As I turned the corner to their table, I began to doubt everything: my hair, my shoes, my jewelry, my outfit...myself. Would they like me? Would they think I was an immature, love-struck girl with lots of growing up to do? What if they don't understand my limited Spanish? Would they forbid their thirty-seven year-old son from dating me? There was no time to answer the questions that swirled through my mind (and also nowhere to run or hide!) by the time I saw a white-haired man with kind eyes and tanned skin rise from his chair. Fernando (my boyfriend), always the gentleman, also stood and pulled out a chair for me to be seated. I sank into the chair, relieved, and allowed myself to make eye contact with these two beings whom I was sure would eat me alive.

At this point, Fernando made a very formal introduction, as if he were presenting a royal duchess to the King and Queen of England. Attilio and Yolanda, Fernando's parents, were as gracious as royalty as they nodded and smiled at me. Me? I felt like a tongue-tied peasant girl as I managed a weak "mucho gusto" (nice to meet you) in response. I finally gave up on speaking any Spanish, and let my handsome suitor translate for me. I was able to relax as we enjoyed a meal together.

I was captivated by this dear couple- a husband and wife who had shared a lifetime together and who had raised the man of my dreams. After just a few minutes in their presence, I knew they would occupy my heart forever.

Although it seems like yesterday, that first meeting was over eight years ago. My "boyfriend's parents" eventually became my in-laws...

...and then a few years later, they became abuelos (grandparents) to my boys. I'm so thankful for EVERYTHING they have contributed to our lives, even though the miles are many between Panama and the USA.

The last time I saw my mother-in-law was August 31, 2010. I was due to have our second child on August 1st, so Yolanda came to stay with us for several weeks to help with the new baby. I'm so glad she was here when Gabriel came into the world, and I don't think I could've handled a busy 12-month old and a newborn without her help. I clearly remember hugging her tightly as we said goodbye. Tears filled my eyes knowing that she would be missed, but never imagining that I would never be able to hug her again.

Yolanda passed away in March of this year, after many long months of sickness and suffering. We are comforted knowing that pain is no longer a part of her daily routine, and we can't wait until we're reunited with her in heaven. But the truth is....it still hurts. Part of me will always wish I could dial her number and hear her voice, even if for a moment. Part of me will always wish I'd gotten more mouth-watering recipes out of her. Part of me will always imagine her sitting next to my father-in-law, laughing at the boys' antics, as we connect via Skype. And ALL of me will always be thankful for the wisdom I gleaned from her. The ways she impacted my life are countless, the memories many, but above all, the following five lessons stand out the most in my mind and have helped shape me into the person I am today:

(1) Faith in God
Yolanda was faithful to start her day with prayer and a time of devotion. It wasn't a rushed time, and what a blessing to know she was approaching the throne of God on our behalf. I don't think I will ever forget the image of her kneeling beside our guest bed and spending time with God. She challenged me to seek Him first thing in the morning, before the cares of the day have a chance to intrude.

(2) Family First, Career Second
Before she retired, Yolanda was a teacher for many years. Her role as madre, however, was much more important. Fernando has shared with me how she was faithful to prepare a delicious meal for her family, even after working long hours in the classroom. She knew how to juggle the demands of a job, while meeting the physical and emotional needs of her FIVE children. She definitely challenged me to work hard at my job, but to work even harder for my kids.

(3) Head Held High, Without Pride
Anyone who was blessed to have Yolanda in his life would quickly notice that she knew how to hold her head high without being proud. She was confident without being arrogant. Regal, but never rude. This, to me, is a real gift and a lost art. I think of her many times when I want to hang my head and cry.  In spite of sadness, shame, regret, or self-doubt, it's important to keep your chin up.

(4) Always a Meal in the Pantry
My mother-in-law was an amazing cook. She could turn an ordinary chicken wing into a mini bite of heaven! One day during her last visit with us, she scoured the fridge for something to make for lunch.  (One of the reasons I loved having her around: she cooked all the meals!) We desperately needed to get groceries, and in my mind, there was NOTHING to eat in the house. I rolled my eyes and turned up my nose when I saw her pull out a bag of fish fillets that had been in the freezer since...well, a VERY long time. Then when she grabbed a bag of celery out of the crisper, I began making plans to take an emergency trip to McDonald's! Yuck and yuck! I thought to myself. I took a quick shower while she prepared the meal, and by the time I returned to the kitchen, she'd served me a plate of seasoned fish with rice and vegetables. I smiled and thanked her, bracing myself for freezer-burnt flounder. I took a bite and had to smile. It was DELICIOUS! THE BEST FISH I'D EVER TASTED! I'd underestimated the abilities of a mother-in-law who'd spent decades cooking flavorful meals for her family. When my pantry is bare, I always think about her and try to consider what she would make.

(5) Shoes!
Yolanda loved shoes. I loved going shopping with her while she was visiting. She had a knack for finding shoes that were both stylish and comfortable. And she was always happy to share her shoe stash with her daughters and granddaughters. I'm so glad I had Yolanda in my life to confirm that a woman can NEVER have too many shoes! :)

I've come to the end of my list, but the memories and thoughts of Yolanda are still flowing, along with a few tears. Reminders of her fill my house and heart... In our guest bathroom, a yellow hand towel that Yolanda stitched for us reminds me what a thoughtful and hard-working woman she was. In my kitchen, recipes written in her immaculate script remind me what a great cook she was. On our mantle, a photo of her at our wedding reminds me of what a beautiful woman she was, inside and out. And most of all, I see her alive once more in the dark brown eyes of my children. I pray that the admirable qualities that made Yolanda who she was will also be evident in their lives.

God puts people in our lives for a season... Some come, and some go, but there are those special souls who touch your lives so deeply and make you realize that one season is never long enough.

I love you, suegra bella. One season with you was not enough, but I'm thankful for ALL you taught me during our season together.

Who killed the cat? I did!

Before you read this story, please understand that I am a God-fearin', devil-hatin', sin-stompin' Christian. I love ALL God's creatures, although as with humans, I do find some animals more annoying than others. I must admit that cats aren't exactly my most favorite species of the animal kingdom. Call me cruel, but I don't tear up when that ASPCA commercial with sad music comes on showing a malnourished cat with a missing eye. (If you're a cat lover, please do not be offended. I'm glad the little fellers have some friends.) I'm sure cats do have some positive traits, but I just think they are unpredictable and disobedient, they know no boundaries, and they multiply faster than you can say "Friskies." For these reasons, I choose not to have a cat in our home, and though I would never wish harm on any of them, I am not a big fan of stray cats lurking around our neighborhood.

Now, for a little backstory:

Sunday night, Halloween Eve, we got home from church. As usual, Fernando parked the car in our driveway and got Enzo out of his carseat. I got Gabriel. Fernando was almost to the side door when a white cat with a gray tail came out of nowhere! He rushed past Fernando up the garage steps, trying to get in the house! There was a slight tussle of commotion as Fernando shielded Enzo and chased the monster kitty down the steps at the same time. Enzo was yelling, "NO CAT! NO CAT!" My fearless husband ushered us safely into the house and then went back outside for the diaper bags/treat buckets/costumes that were still in the car. From inside the house, I heard another shuffle in the garage. Fernando finally made it in, looking only slightly disheveled, and announced that he had thrown cold water on the kitty because he wouldn't stay out of the garage. We both let out a sigh of relief that the creepy intruder was gone. Surely being doused with ice-cold water in 40 degree temps would keep him away.

Or so we thought...

Monday, Halloween, dawned cold and overcast. I had made plans to take the boys to my Mama's house so I could work in the office. We planned to take the boys trick-or-treating around Mama's neighborhood after I got off work, so I had to make several trips to the car to get everything loaded up. I got the boys buckled in (by then I was ready for a nap), cranked the car, pushed the button on the remote to lower the garage door, and started backing out of the driveway. I then remembered that I needed to put some mail in the mailbox to be picked up. I slung the car back in Park, put the mail in the box and raised the red flag. As I walked back to the car, the breeze picked up and I saw something flapping in the wind at the right side of the garage, caught under the door. It looked like a jacket or a shirt. I figured I'd dropped something out of the boys' diaper bag. I stepped closer to see what it was and then... I shrieked in horror! It wasn't a jacket or shirt! It was a cat! The same cat from the night before! Under my garage door! Squashed flatter than a flour tortilla!

Unable to take in the horror, I ran back to the safety of my car. My mind began racing in a hundred different directions. What do I do? Where did he come from? Who did he belong to? Is this a creepy Halloween prank? And then, as I saw the tail flap in the wind once more, I wondered, "Is he really dead?" I pressed the button to lift the garage door, and... let's just say that it was crystal-clear that the flattened feline was no longer with us. I immediately called Fernando who thought it was both unfortunate and hilarious. He told me to, and I quote, "Grab a broom and move it out from under the garage. I'll bury it when I get home."

Ha ha, very funny, babe. AIN'T HAPPENIN'! There's no way on God's green earth that I'm touching that dead cat. Not even with a 10,000 ft pole. My response? "You can either come get this cat corpse outta my garage or I'm calling animal control."

We agreed that he would take care of it later.

(By this time, Enzo had picked up on the fact that Mommy was seriously freaked out about something and he started screaming "NO CAT! NO CAT!" once more.)

Once arrangements had been made for the disposal, I was eager to get the frisk outta dodge. I then made the gut-wrenching decision (no pun intended) to put the door back down on top of kitty, and back out of there like it had never happened. I was completely grossed out all the way to my Mama's house. I mean, what are the odds that a CAT would bypass all the sensors and detectors and get SQUASHED by a garage door? MY garage door? On HALLOWEEN? I managed to count my blessings and be thankful it wasn't a black cat. Lord knows if it would've been, there would've been a "FOR SALE" sign in my yard pronto.

To make a long and gross story short, and to keep it rated PG, let's suffice it to say that we don't know who the cat belonged to (we checked with all the neighbors). Fernando "got rid of it," bleached and rinsed out the garage, and made me promise to never leave the house on Halloween again.

I don't know what Halloween 2012 might bring, but I can assure you that "NO CAT! NO CAT!" will be involved.

How was your Halloween?