What Will Your Pre-Teen Girl Be For Halloween?

With Halloween only days away, there is a rush on costumes. Here are some of the hot selections of costumes for pre-teens this year (yes, these all come in pre-teen sizes – some as small as 6-8):

Maybe your girl wants to be a storybook character, like Miss Muffet:


Sold-out! Virginity not included.

Or maybe she’d like to be a fairy, like when she was younger:

Does a pre-teen have the breasts to fill that costume out?

There’s always the classic vampire:

More Anne Rice, less Bram Stoker

But if those are too sexy, you can fall back on the traditional pirate:

More like the galley girl, I think.

Yeah, it’s a sexy Halloween, and from the costumes being sold, it looks like the goal is to make everyone look sexy, from adult down to pre-adolescent girls. Do 8 year olds really need costumes like that? Are we so out of imagination and creativity that we have to fall back on sex, even for costumes designed for middle-school girls?

Oh wait, it’s worse than that:Superhero underwear, now available in size 4-6X!

Yes, Linda Carter wore something very similar, but there are modified versions that are more appropriate for a 4 year old.

I’m not against mini-skirts, and I’m not a prude. I’m even OK with these types of costumes for older teenagers. They’re trying out adulthood, and experimenting with looking sexual can be part of finding an identity. But can’t little girls look like little girls, and not prostitots?

So, Miss On-Her-High-Horse, what are your kids dressing as for Halloween? you may ask. Here are this year’s selections. Mira had no choice in hers, but Cordy picked her costume herself.

Mira’s costume:

Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope. And change my diaper, will you?

Cordy’s costume:

Real pirates don’t wear fishnets. 

Finally, if you’d like to see some amazing shoes for your kids (and enter to win a gift certificate, too), check out my review of Vincent shoes over at Mommy’s Must Haves today.


The Tale of the Sentient Trash Can

You may not know this, but I live in a magical neighborhood. Not everything here follows the normal laws of the universe. Maybe it’s super science, or maybe it’s mystical. I’d swear we lived in Eureka if it wasn’t for the fact that my mail clearly says Columbus.

Our trash can has been acting weird lately. No longer content to bide its time on the edge of the street on trash day, waiting for me to eventually haul it back up the driveway around noon when I take Cordy to school, it seems bored and maybe even a little malicious.

At first it moved just a little. For several weeks, it seems to have been testing it’s powers of mobility by moving back a few feet into the edge of the driveway. I found it odd, but didn’t consider it too much. I even tried to rationalize it away, thinking the trash truck may have put it there (hard to do – it’s an automatic truck that sets the can down right where it was), or maybe the mailman was getting here early on those days, pushing the can out of the way of his little mail truck. Neither seemed likely, though.

Pleased with those early efforts, and confident in its abilities, the trash can became more bold last week. As I put Cordy in the car for school, I looked down the driveway and saw the trash can, sitting at the end of the driveway, smack in the middle. Smart trash can, that one – it knew that I wouldn’t be able to get out of the driveway without moving it.

But what it didn’t know was that my maneuverability skills are ranked somewhere up there with NASCAR drivers and the Bureau of Motor Vehicles drivers’ test administrators, thanks to years of careful parallel parking in impossibly small spaces during college. Unwilling to give in to this toddler-like demand for attention, I carefully weaved my car around it and took Cordy to school. I moved it back to the garage when I got home, feeling the trash can had a suitable time out while I was gone.

You know those sentient trash cans, though: they’re stubborn. And this one is still acting out like a spoiled toddler…or maybe an emo teen. You can practically hear it stomping its wheel, unhappy with its one chore of being forced to stand outside once a week. No, it’s determined to show me how unhappy it is and somehow make me unhappy, too.

So this morning I was looking out the window to see if it was raining yet, and I saw this:

Just look at it, taunting me…

Since I shrugged off the trash can’s attempt to be noticed at the end of the driveway last week, it upped the ante, using all of its power to move just behind the SUV this morning. And wow it moves fast – the trash was picked up just before 7am, and it had moved to its new position before 8am.

I IM’d Aaron at work to ask if he had moved the can, but he said it was out on the street by our tree when he left this morning. A quick glance further down the street showed several other trash cans still dutifully waiting for their owners on the edge of the street. Apparently we not only have high-needs children, but now a high-needs trash can as well.

Having a trash can that doesn’t like its job is no fun. City law states that it needs to be taken out of the street within 24 hours, which is about 23 hours more than it’s giving us. This trash can needs to be taught that whether it likes the rain or not, it’s our bitch and we decide when it’s done for the day, not it. Lots of other cans wait without complaint, many until the end of the day.

Next week I’m going to set up a video camera in a front window. I’m determined to catch it in action, so it won’t give me any lip with some lame excuse. Like the wind pushed it uphill, or small gnomes forced it into that position against its will, or spiteful, feral neighbors with a chip on their shoulder and a passive aggressive nature put it there to be nasty.

In its current position, of course, I will be forced to move it from behind my car before I can leave today. This makes me unhappy that the trash can is getting its way.

Any thought on how to punish a willful trash can?

Next week: I will tackle our sentient front yard, which keeps stealing the neighbor kids’ toys for its decoration, cluttering it up. It must be taught that we do not want stuff that isn’t ours on it for days.



Neighbor Showdown

Well, it finally had to happen. Our neighbors finally showed themselves to be the rabid feral animals we knew them to be. I’m still shaken, so forgive me if this is disjointed. I needed to get it out somewhere.

First off, the bad news is that the neighbors aren’t losing their house now. It was to be foreclosed on, but their mortgage company decided at the last minute to work with them. I can only hope they miss more payments and get thrown out. Yeah, it’s a little mean to wish that on them, but after tonight, you can understand why I feel that way.

Tonight the kids were, once again, completely in our yard, taking over our side yard for their games. While out in the backyard, I caught a kid out of the corner of my eye, in the fenced in yard, and then he ran around the side of the house. I walked around to see two of the boys saying, “Let’s get out of here,” as they ran away, and the girl saying, “Oh, thanks guys, let me get in trouble.” Clearly they know it’s wrong to jump our fence. I reminded the girl to please let us know if they lose their ball in the yard by knocking on our door, and gave her back the other ball that was in our yard.

I came in and told Aaron, then opened the front door. It was then I noticed that a few of the bricks surrounding our tree were knocked over as the kids ran all over our yard. Aaron had had enough at this point, and went outside to tell the kids they needed to respect our property, and if they damaged anything he would call the police. OK, he probably shouldn’t have mentioned the word police, but he didn’t raise his voice, and he said please.

Then the bomb hit. The dad came over to our house, yelling obscenities at us and threatening us. I went outside and attempted to reason with them (what the hell was I thinking?), but as usual he and his wife cut off anything I tried to say and yelled at me.

I told them I simply didn’t want our property damaged by them, and I thought we were well within our bounds to set our own rules on our own property.

The mom said that we are the problem with society – we don’t let kids be kids, and they are just letting their kids be kids. She also (of course) went back to her old argument that her kids never do anything wrong, and that it’s their friends who are doing all the damage. Because we can’t produce visual evidence, we have no proof. She also claims that she’s seen random kids come running through just to jump over our fence. I’ve seen her oldest son climbing our fence before, and somehow I’ve never seen these mysterious fence jumpers who come from far and wide just to leap our fence.

There were several points I could have yelled back or thrown an insult about their kids. But I refused to stoop to her level. And so I simply stood there and reiterated that we just want our property respected while she tried to twist everything I said around. I reminded her that we have never raised our voice with her children, even though she accused us of yelling at her kids for “bending a blade of grass”. She then said it didn’t matter if I didn’t raise my voice, because the tone of my voice was disrespectful to her kids. (Can’t win, can you?)

And the insults against us continued. She said we keep Cordy “locked up” (because she’s not outside all the time) and told me that it’s no wonder she has social problems and will grow up to be an outcast. She repeated over and over that we’re the problem with society, and we’d rather see her kids hit by cars. Apparently she’s preventing her kids from becoming juvenile delinquents and shooting people by letting them run wild outside. Uh-huh, whatever. I thought running wild with no concern for others is how kids head down the wrong path.

She told us that half of the neighbors were on her side, and that also our fence was on their property and she was planning to call the homeowners association to force us to tear it down. (We built the fence on the property line, actually, since two years ago they wanted to build a fence and we offered to extend ours to the property line since they were concerned about the costs. We were trying to be nice. See what nice gets you?) Should we find out the fence is on their property (doubt it – we measured it with the stake put in by the city), we’re only too happy to tear that side down and move it in, just to the inside of our property.

I also reminded her that I’ve seen her youngest son peeing in our yard more than once. She told me that, again, I was in the wrong, because he’s a boy and that’s what boys do. “All boys do it. Your husband probably did it as a kid, too.” (For the record, he didn’t.) I had no idea peeing in other people’s yards was socially acceptable.

She then said that we brought all of this on ourselves, because before they moved in, we told them we had plenty of yard and they were welcome to play in our yard. Maybe we did offer that, but we do have the right to revoke that offer, and we expect our property to remain undamaged.

It was clear there was no reasoning with these people. Anything we tried to say they countered with some ridiculous argument and hurled insults at me. Finally Aaron came back out, and it escalated. The dad came over onto our property and got right up in his face (completely nose-to-nose) saying we didn’t want to find out what he was capable of. We, having stayed calm the entire time, did not react to his provocations. I calmly said, “There’s no need for you to be so aggressive,” to which he then swung around to me, pointing his finger about an inch from my face and saying, “You stay the fuck out of this!” Aaron wisely took a step back and said, “Clearly, this conversation is over. Let’s go inside.” We turned around and left as they continued to yell at us.

Soon the cops showed up. Yes, they called the police. The neighbors had also by this point fetched the parents of the friend the kids had in our yard. They talked to the police for about fifteen minutes, and then one of the officers came to speak with us. We explained our position to him. The other officer came up to speak with us, too, asking where the property line was. I told him it was at the fence, although they were contesting that. He went to look, and came back, saying, “You’ve got a pie-shaped lot. That looks like the right placement for the property line.”

The cops were very nice with us, in no way indicating that we’ve done anything wrong. I informed them that the dad had threatened us with physical harm, too. They offered to tell the family that they were not allowed to step foot on our property. I explained that I didn’t want it to come to that. I’m not trying to be mean, I only want our property to be respected.

They thanked us, and returned to talking with the neighbors. The police remained outside for nearly an hour. At one point, Aaron could hear an officer telling them, “Look, we told them we could forbid you from coming onto their land, but they didn’t want to do that.” Finally the police left.

It’s quiet now. I’m sick to my stomach. I’m angry. And I feel like a prisoner in my own house. These people are aggressive and unable to see beyond their own noses. While this entire argument was going on, all four of their kids were standing right there, learning how to act like cavemen, just like their parents.

This is such a petty thing to get this worked up over. I’d like to say I didn’t think they would overreact like this, but I somehow knew this would happen. Say anything, or look cross eyed at their kids, and they will jump all over you. They never admit their kids do anything wrong. Just last week I explained to the mom that I had asked the kids not to pull on our tree, because they have broken off a branch, and she said to me, “I’ve told them not to do it. But what can I do?” Uh, how about parent your kids?

I’m so upset, and I really wish they’d go away. They are mean, spiteful, hateful people, and I have a strong feeling they will now try to retaliate. Our car has already been scratched up (mysteriously?) after the last argument over their kids. But now they’re openly hostile, so there’s no telling what these people will do now.

Sometimes I wish there were personality tests required in order to live in certain areas. We just want to enjoy our home, and our yard, in peace. Our neighbors, however, seem to think that they are entitled to do whatever they want in the neighborhood, especially our yard.

What do you do when your own neighbors are your worst enemy?

Edited to add: Late at night they came over again, talking like we were all friends and telling us about how their property line on the drawing they were given doesn’t match up with the city’s drawings, and how it’s the builder’s fault. They did apologize and say they didn’t want to fight. I reminded them that it’s a hassle to go to them every time I have to ask their kids to not do something, and asked them to not get so bent out of shape if we politely ask their kids to follow our rules in our yard. I have no idea for why they had the sudden change in attitude, but I’ll take it. I can only guess the police gave them a serious talk about property laws. Still, I’d rather have passive-aggressive neighbors at a Yellow threat level rather than outright hostile neighbors at a Red threat level.



My Self-Esteem Was Shot Down By An Elf

It was a good Saturday, overall. Cordy was with grandma, and Aaron, Mira, and I went west to Indianapolis to spend the day at GenCon. I think we’ve established that Aaron and I are geeks, so this should come as no surprise.

There were only two bad events all day today. The drive home was miserable, thanks to construction on Interstate 70. If you don’t live anywhere near I-70, let me explain: you can never travel on I-70 without at least one traffic jam, due to construction, accident, or just something shiny on the side of the road that everyone must stop and look at.

Today, two miles of construction took 45 minutes. And Mira, who doesn’t mind being in the car as long as it’s moving, did not appreciate the slow crawl during that time. The fussing and crying nearly made me turn the car around and set up a new home in Indy instead of facing that traffic. Sure, I’d miss Cordy, but maybe we could see her again someday when they started construction on the other side of I-70?

The other bad moment ruined my high for the day at the convention. I was dressed in an entire outfit of non-maternity clothes, had shaved my legs, brushed my hair, and thought I looked pretty damn good. Aaron was carrying Mira in the baby sling, which always gets a lot of attention (women love a man wearing a baby), leaving me baby-free and feeling non-mom-like. And then the following happened while visiting a friend’s sales booth:

(20-something woman dressed as an Elf walks up to us)

Woman: Awww…she’s cute.

Aaron: Thanks.

Woman: (gesturing to sling) That’s a great idea. She looks so comfortable!

Aaron: Yeah, they’re wonderful…(starts talking about pros of babywearing – I admit I wasn’t fully paying attention at this point)…It’s really a great way to get around and keep the baby happy.

Woman: (turning to me, and I swear she said this) And it looks like you’ve got another on the way?

At this point, I should also tell you that when she said this, she actually began to reach out to touch my belly! Seriously! Thank her little elven Gods that she didn’t complete her impulsive action or I might’ve gone all Orc on her.

Me: (totally aghast) No, I’m not pregnant, I’m postpartum.

Woman: (who doesn’t seem to realize the social faux pas she’s committed) Oh. Well, she’s cute! (walks away, elven cape flapping behind her)

WTF? Maybe an Elf has a shorter pregnancy, but I don’t see how I could be pregnant and showing when I have a baby who clearly looks like a 12 week old. I spent the remainder of the day sucking in my belly and plotting a trip to Macy’s to lock my mid-section into some kind of support garment for the rest of my life. Maybe corsets could come back in style?

And so I offer this small public service announcement: unless a woman tells you directly that she’s pregnant, or you see a baby’s head crowning, NEVER ASSUME SHE’S PREGNANT. Sorry, don’t mean to shout, but this obviously doesn’t get through to some people. Save yourself and the poor other woman some embarrassment and leave any and all topics of reproductive status alone. (Oh, and don’t touch other people’s bellies without permission, too. You might just lose that hand, especially if the woman isn’t pregnant.)



Why not cut that baby out and get it over with?

*Reposted for the Parent Bloggers Network and Body, Soul, & Baby Blog Blast. We were asked to share our most annoying preggo or new mom question that someone asked us. This one still makes me shake my head.*

While in line at the cafe at work today:

Woman: Wow, look at you – you’re ready to pop! When are you due?

Me: Yesterday.

Woman: Oh, that must be awful to be past due! Are you in a lot of pain?

Me: (trying to avoid this conversation) I’m a little sore, but it’s not bad.

Woman: Well, what are you waiting for? Why not cut that baby out and get it over with?

Me: *blink blink*

Possible responses that flash by in my head:

Gee, I’m not so fond of major abdominal surgery.

Yeah, damn that little brat for being one day past the arbitrary date set by a calendar! I’ll show her who’s in charge!

My doctor has advised me not to take advice from idiot strangers with no medical background.

Huh, why didn’t I think of that? Got a knife?

Tried that once – not for me.

It’s a baby, not a tumor to be cut out at will.

Oh, that useless brain in your head must be awful! Why not just cut it out and get it over with?

What I actually say:

Me: (resisting urge to lecture on the complication risks of elective c-sections) She’ll come when she’s ready.

Sometimes I hate that little filter between my brain and mouth, especially when dealing with people who clearly have no filter. I mean, really – who asks something like that?

I think at this point I’d rather wear a shirt that says, “Just awkwardly fat, not pregnant” to avoid these types of conversations.

************

Don’t you wish you could have just handed them this?