Here's the thing - I'm a Halloween scrooge. I know, I know - FREAK. But I just don't get the holiday. I know you're thinking that obviously I did not consume enough candy corn during my childhood, but that's not true. I did the Halloween thing as a kid. But to be honest, I never really liked it all that much. The costume thing was okay, but mostly it was a burden to get all dressed up, often in a costume that made it difficult to sit or walk. And then there was, of course, the walking itself. It's so tiring. And it's often COLD outside. I hate being tired and cold. And even when my parents drove me around from house to house (because we lived out in the boondocks and houses were miles apart), the getting in and out of the car a million times was almost as tiring as the walking around would have been. If you're thinking that a kid who won't do a little walking for a lot of candy is LAZY, you would be right. I was a lazy kid. But also, in my defense, I wasn't a big fan of candy. Or strangers. Or even, really, people I knew. And it just wasn't worth bartering chit-chat and cheek pinches for candy that would sit around the house until Easter when it would get thrown out and replaced by Easter candy that would then sit around until Halloween.

It would be perfectly fine with me if Halloween were removed from the calendar (closely followed by Valentine's Day). And this is yet another reason I should not have kids. They would expect creative costumes and jack-o-lantern carving and fake spiderwebs on our windows and I would just look at them and say, "Really? Do we have to? I mean, it all just seems so TIRING."

And I don't even understand what exactly it is everyone is celebrating. Death? I don't want to celebrate that. Ghosts? I don't believe in them. Being scared? Being scared is not fun, y'all. Candy? You already know how I feel about that. And so I did not wear orange or black today. And I won't turn on my porch light this evening. In fact, I did not even buy candy. Because damned if I'm going to stand by the door just to fake-ooh and fake-ahh over stranger kids' costumes. That is not fun. Egg my house if you must, but that's just not going to happen. Bah humbug.

To be honest, I'm a bit of a scrooge in general. Within our extended family, I'm known as the one who "hates fun." It's true - I do. One year, my aunt thought it would be fun to add games to our Christmas get-together. I hate games. But we played stupid games anyway, and I bitched and moaned about it so much that they said I had to be in charge of games the next year. Which was fine by me, because the next year? Yeah, we didn't have games. And no one could complain about it because they had put me in charge. Suckers. But then the next year, they put someone else in charge, and that someone thought that what would be even more fun than games would be karaoke. Aargh - I hate karaoke even more than games. (I know hating karaoke officially makes me a FREAK, but I don't care. I hate karaoke. There, I said it again!) And then there was the time I went to my cousin's birthday party which was held at a skating rink. Turns out, they actually expected people to skate! Yeah, I don't skate. I mean, I know how to skate but I choose not to skate. Because it is not fun. I am happy you are eight years old, kiddo, but hell will freeze over before you will see me on skates. I will celebrate by eating cake.

Because eating cake? Now that is fun.

Here is the London handbag that wooed the Amway bitch. Except that it didn't actually woo her because SHE WAS LYING. But whatever. (See how it matches my shoes?!)

And now I will list for you the contents of my handbag for no particular reason other than 1) I love to list things and 2) I find it fascinating to know what other people carry around with them and I assume I am not the only nosy freak out there.

[tangent, in honor of mrtl]
You know that game women play at bridal showers, the one where you get points if you have certain items in your purse? I never win that game because I am not a mother and so cannot whip out a sippy cup or a breast pump or a foldable high chair. But I love to play because you would not believe the shit some people carry around with them! Sometimes I think, "Whoa woman, you are a FREAK to be carrying that around." But then other times I think, "How is it that I am the only person in the room who doesn't keep stamps in her purse? I must have missed that memo." Truly, did you know that most women carry stamps around in their purses? Stamps! I don't really understand why, but I'm sure there's a damn good reason. (Probably because stamps are worth like, 50 points in the bridal shower game.)
[end tangent]

My baggage:

• glasses which I wear when I drive at night and when I need to read things at a distance and when I want to look smart and sometimes at home because Rob thinks I'm cute in them
• keys
• two pairs of sunglasses: brown ones and black ones with pink lenses
• cell phone which, when turned on, displays the greeting "Hello Goddess" because there's nothing wrong with a daily reminder
• small zipper pouch with powder, chapstick, three lipsticks, and two hair ties that I can't even use because my hair is too short and has been for over a year so why the hell are they still in there?
• iPod shuffle which is the sole reason I go running after work because when I bought it Rob said I wouldn't ever use it and so now I go running so I can use it and prove him wrong
• Band-Aids because once on a trip to New York I cut my finger pretty badly while using a piece of shit pocketknife to make an extra hole in a belt I had just bought at Macy's (that was too big but I bought anyway because I loved it) and I did not have Band-Aids and the hotel did not have Band-Aids and I bled all over the place and it sucked
• small notebook that Doreen gave me for my birthday for jotting down blogging ideas (and which is also used, on occasion, to share snarky comments at weddings)
• pen, except when we go grocery shopping and need to mark things off the list and then for some reason it is NEVER there
• assorted feminine products including a tampon which is of the shape and size to be occasionally mistaken for a pen when one is digging around blindly in one's purse but which is not, in fact, at all effective in marking items off a grocery list but is quite useful for embarassing one's husband in public
• at least one pack of gum because I am making an effort this year to chew more gum but don't ask why because I honestly have no clue
• list of books I want to read which I used to keep at home but then every time I would go to the library I would realize I'd forgotten my list and I would be unable to remember a single title on the damn list but now that I keep it in my purse, how many times do you think I've gone to the library? Yeah, none.
• wallet, the contents of which are utterly boring and predictable except for the photo section:
  

  Yeah, I've never put photos in it, so the stock photos are still there. I've never had anyone comment on this, but if anyone ever does I am totally going to pretend those people are my family.

Last night we had our first potty training accident.

Until yesterday, the cats had been using their regular litter box as I gradually reduced the amount of litter. Yesterday I decided it was time to take the next step and introduce the Catseat. (The Catseat will eventually -ideally- be moved to the toilet seat, but first the cats learn to use it on the floor with a shallow litter pan in the seat opening. It's basically a "training potty" - same idea as how it's done with kids.) So I set it up and placed it on the floor. The cats sniffed it. And then we left for dinner.

As soon as we got home, I rushed upstairs to the bathroom to see what had happened. I just sorta knew, you know? And yep, one of the cats (I'm pretty sure it was Bridget because...because I CAN TELL, okay?) had done her business on the floor about one foot away from the Catseat. But she had dug all the litter out of the pan, as if she had started to use it but then, well...didn't.

I was disappointed. Not with Bridget, of course, but just that it didn't work. So I did what I always do when something isn't working. "Rob!! FIX IT."

Rob took one look at the Catseat and said, "The pan needs to be lowered. It's too high - they don't feel like they're digging deep enough."

"Well, this is how the instructions say to do it."

The cats came into the bathroom to join the family discussion. We all stood there, looking at the Catseat.

"I just think it's too high," Rob insisted. "They need to feel like they're digging a hole."

It was a good point, so I lowered the pan. Before I could even take a step back, Maylee marched over to the seat, stepped up onto it, sniffed, scratched, and let loose.

Rob and I looked at each other, then back at Maylee. Bridget and I looked at each other, then back at Maylee.

"We need the camera," Rob muttered.

"No, don't move," I whispered. "We might mess her up or something."

So we stood there and watched. Bridget and Simon stood there and watched. And then Maylee stepped out and there was much praise and perhaps even a little applause. Perhaps.

Our first potty training success!

But not our last. Because later in the evening, I saw Simon use it! And then, as I was brushing my teeth, Bridget marched in, walked over to the Catseat, sniffed all around, and then cautiously got up on it, circled several times, and hunkered down.

I went running down the stairs to get the camera, all the while yelling, "ROB! BRIDGIE IS GOING PEE-PEE IN THE POTTY!"

And with that one proud exclamation, I officially crossed the line into mommyhood. Or, perhaps, just officially crossed the line.

(Such great form!)