I have no one to blame but myself.

So, all this sad, woe-is-me talk about how fast my kids are growing up, how hard it is to let them go, how life is never quite the same once they graduate from high school, has come back to haunt me.

It's not that I don't want them to grow up. I actually have enjoyed their teenage years. I love being able to talk to them without a "how come?" after everything I say. And the last time anyone threw a temper tantrum (you know the kind that looks like they're drowning and doing the backstroke at the same time) was when Trey was 3 years old and he didn't want to sleep in his own bed (yet another reason to rejoice that they're growing up). Trey slept in our bed for what seemed like forever! My mind has blocked out certain details to keep me from holding it against him for the rest of his life, but I do know that he only slept in his new crib maybe 5 times before he outgrew it and replaced it with a toddler bed, which he hardly used as well. This particular night I decided was the night he was going to have to 'man-up', become the 'big-boy' he was destined to be, and sleep in his own bed. 3 year olds can be extremely stubborn, but so can sleep-deprived, hubby-deprived moms. So, we left a tantrum throwing 3 year old in the hallway, locked our bedroom door, and tried to sleep with what sounded like a fire engine outside our door. Hours later (slight exaggeration, but it felt like it) we slipped out of our bedroom to the now quiet hallway. Trey wasn't there. Ahh, victory! We crept into his room to make sure all was well, but all wasn't well. He wasn't there! Maybe the living room? No! Panic sets in...maybe all that kicking and screaming was because some boogey man was torturing our little boy and kidnapped him while our heads were buried under our pillows! Luckily before we called 911, we noticed the bathroom door was shut and the light shining underneath it. The girls were softly snoring in their rooms, so we knew it had to be Trey. Unfortunately for us, his little 3-year old mind was thinking 'two can play this game' as he locked the door behind him. Thirty minutes, a bent kitchen knife and a screw-driver later, we were finally able to open the door. This is what we saw:

Yes, he's sleeping not in, but on the bathtub. We tried not to laugh out loud so as to not startle him awake, having him fall off his oh-so carefully balanced bed, knocking his head on the toilet on his way down. But we didn't have anything to worry about, all that tantrum throwing left behind a very tired little boy. He slept through the whole move, along with a few pictures and giggles.

Sometimes I get a little side tracked while taking trips down memory lane.
The point I was getting at, 200 words ago, was that while I've been mourning the loss of my second daughter's everyday presence in my life, daughter no. 1 has reminded me that it doesn't matter how old you get, kids never really do grow up...

Chelsea and side-kick Sam decided that Halloween should come early this year. So they poked some holes in garbage bags for their legs, stuffed their arms and crumpled newspaper inside, then found the neighbors porches to litter. I'm not sure how they rang the doorbell without use of their arms, but they found a way, then quickly dropped to the ground and became what looked like a bag of garbage. The unsuspecting door opener, confused by the odd delivery, when trying to retrieve the bag, it would suddenly jump up and run away, leaving a very startled, (but grateful that the trash took itself out) person.

Sorry Cameron. It really wasn't a big bag of balloons...you weren't getting asked to homecoming...you'll have to find your own date.

Oh Chels...you make me laugh! You've made me realize that growing up doesn't mean you have to give up the kid in you...that you can make your own fun with some black-make up and a garbage bag...that making great memories is better than making dinner (I should have gone with you) and that painting your face black is the secret to having really white teeth!

On second thought, I wouldn't want to encourage this type of adolescent behavior from my eldest, mature, responsible married daughter. I mean, what kind of mother would I be if...wait a sec...is someone penny tapping my window?

I have no one to blame but myself.