I’ve gone from love-struck dumbass to reality-facing dumbass over the last year. However you look at it, it is disappointing. Those that know me best will attest to my intense dislike of household chores and my jubilation at the approach of the fall holidays. You see, Halloween is my favorite holiday. I have always celebrated with tons of decorations and fanfare. This year has proved a challenge for me. I’ve been working so hard and come home so many nights exhausted, frustrated, and in a horrid mood, that the month has flown by with nary a creepy spider or cobweb. I just haven’t been in the mood. Which also makes me a bad mother because my children love Halloween as much, if not more, than I do. They have asked and asked… And I have blown them off. Well not today. Despite my being jet-lagged from a flight from Seattle and tired from work I came home, cleaned, put up decorations, made everyone’s favorite dinner, completed a diorama with my son, and whipped up a batch of pumpkin cookies from scratch. In the process I skinned my knuckle, hurt my already hurt shoulder and wrist quite a bit, and managed to get royally pissed. My boyfriend, who I love very much but want to throttle every now and again, said I shouldn’t be lifting all the heavy holiday tubs around when I am hurt. I jokingly respond, “so you are going to help next time.” He looks me dead in the eye and says no. That I shouldn’t have decorated and done all this in the first place. Gee thanks sweetie! And also, screw you. How about “thanks” or “looks nice” or “of course I will help you do something that is important to you regardless of its lack of importance to me.” No such luck. I’m now plotting my revenge.