Everyone "Sort of" Worships Me, Do They?

What Your Halloween Habits Say About You

The scariest thing on Halloween is you! You definitely don't want any kids in costumes crossing your path - and you're willing to scare away any who do. No one quite understands you, but everyone also sort of worships you. And that's exactly how you like it. Your inner child is stubborn and a bit bossy. You fear people taking advantage for you. You are always worried about protecting your own interests. You're prone to be quite emotional and over dramatic. Deep down, you enjoy being scared out of your mind... even if you don't admit it. You are picky and high maintenance. If you wear a Halloween costume, it's only when you really feel like it. And it has to be perfect.

What's" Your Halloween Personality?

How Big is a Load of Laundry?

Liquid laundry detergent in concentrated form seems to be all the rage lately. This jug says it will wash 40 loads, while that one boasts it is good for 50--AND will make your clothes smell like a mountain fresh tropical rainforest blooming with lavender and citrus blossoms.

Only how big a load are they talking about?

I would say I run my washing machine an average of five times a week. I try not to run it unless it's at least three-quarters full, despite the "small load" feature. But I have a sneaking suspicion that in the eyes of Big Detergent, I am not doing five loads a week. According to the label promising 50 loads, that jug should last for ten weeks, or three and a half months. I'm lucky if I can make it stretch for two weeks.

It seems to me the more loads proclaimed on the label, the smaller the cap used to measure the liquid. Hard pressed to believe I can clean a pile of towels or a week's worth of colors for three people with what amounts to a single "shot" of detergent, I've been known to pour in two or more capfuls.

I'm looking at the deceptive jug now: 78 fluid ounces of "2X Double Concentrated" detergent. On the back: "This smaller bottle has the cleaning power to clean 50 loads of laundry." The finer print below is where they cover their tushies: "Use more for large or heavily soiled loads." They don't say how much more or larger, leaving that to the consumer's discretion.

Apparently, their idea of a load is a couple of not-so-dirty shirts and a sock that lost its mate on a previous wash run.

I can probably squeeze two more loads out of the current jug. Tomorrow we go grocery shopping, and I will buy a new jug.

Once I open that new jug, I resolve to use only one capful per load of laundry. I will keep track here of how many loads I wash until that jug is empty. Maybe then I can figure out how big they think a load of laundry is.

But something tells me it's not as big as the other kind of load they're giving me.

Our Dueling Disruptors

Buddy (top) and Jasper (bottom). Buddy is the bigger and more playful. Jasper is smaller and, when he's somewhere he shouldn't be--like on our bed--and I tell him to get off, he rolls onto his back, thumps his tail, and gazes upside-down at me with those big brown eyes that say, "But I'm so cute!" At that point, I feel as if I would do anything for him.

Just don't tell Mr. Lucky. He might try it and next thing you know, I'll be up on the roof clearing sludge out of the gutters while he's inside watching the football game in peace--or at least as much as the dogs and Baby Bear will allow.

Most Dreaded Phrase in the English Language (first in a series):

"You! Yes, you there, with the look of sheer horror on your face. Stand up and introduce yourself!"

By now, it's too late to excuse myself so I can run to the ladies' room and check my teeth for bits of broccoli (and I don't even eat broccoli). All I can do is check my heels to make sure there are no strands of toilet tissue clinging to them like advertising banners behind an airplane, and hope there's nothing incriminating stuck to my backside when I stand.

"Tell us who you are, what you do, why did you come here, and how did you find out about us?"

The only way this can get worse is if they add, "Oh, and we see you brought your family, too! Wonderful! Won't you introduce them all?"

You have no idea how much fun this is in a place like church, where I usually have one kid splashing in the font and another munching on the communion wafers.

Fortunately, today I need only refer visitors to the profile on the right of this page (that's assuming I formatted everything correctly).

My youngest child is ten year old Baby Bear, and he is the only one still living at home. But that doesn't mean his two much older siblings won't provide their own share of fodder here.

My husband, Mr. Lucky, has recently retired after more than twenty years in the U.S. Air Force, and is home pretty much all the time now. But he got bored after a while, so instead of taking up golf or fishing, or even cruising for a trophy wife like other guys in his situation, he decided to spice things up by adopting a couple of beagles.

The irony? In regards to my writing, I can't help thinking I got a lot more done when the two older children were preschoolers, than I do now.

This blog will be mainly about my family, my writing, and my glamorous career as a homemaker; and how they all conspire to form a Bermuda-like triangle into which my sanity has disappeared.

And as it progresses, I hope to amaze and astound you with my ongoing, half-baked attempts to try and make links that don't stretch all the way across the page and beyond.