We layed around like slugs until midafternoon. It was pathetic. A Halloween hangover. That's what it was.

Incidentally, Halloween called up some things that I hadn't ruminated on in awhile...

worry

fear

and generally having the shit scared out of you.

You can do it to yourself, have it happen inadvertantly or someone can do it to you. (shameless segue, but thank you MizMell..)

Yesterday, I was minding my own business, fairly pleased that MizMell enjoyed my posting of crude jokes and so accepted her invitation to look at an eerie video on her blog.

Eerie my ass.
It cleaned my colon, man.
No lie.
I was soooooooo not ready for the freak out...hence it being a freak out...yeah...ok...gotcha...but really--- while I was experiencing the adrenalin rush and all that that entailed including the changing of my chones and of course, hell yeah posting the same vid to my blog, it called something to mind.

When was the last time I had had the pants scared off of me? Dunno. I hate scary movies and haunted houses. In the last almost 40 years I can count on one hand the scary ones I have seen. My mom tells family I was the only kid she knew that watched the Munsters with my hands over my face.

In my mind purposefully scaring the bejeebers out of myself is not a worthwhile endeavor. I do think though I may have to reconsider this now.

Last night I took the kids to extort candy from the neighbors and had time to think about this. I watched kids sucking around for a fright as they approached doors where ambushes were clearly suspected. Obligatory shrieks emanated from said bushes and little squeals met in reply, "Do it again! Do it again!

There were some children with their heads buried up their parents butt though their candy bucket arms stayed extended. They, whether at a high rate of speed or with comforter nearby, were totally into the experience and the subsequent payoff.

Today I went to a bookstore dumpster where I had it on good authority I would find magazines I could use for my jarheads in Iraq. I looked around the dumpster where they were supposed to be-- no luck...then I saw them inside just out of reach. Jackpot.

There had to be 300 bucks worth sitting there...I wanted them bad. Now at this particular Mall there is is rent a cop in a grey flat top haircut who is not crazy to see homeschoolers around before 3 when local schools are out. I know it bugs him--he's said as much in several public reflections of what "the laws SHOULD be around here." (Incidentally, I think if the man just got laid occasionally it would be good for all concerned--well save the layee.)

I stood there at the dumpster, considered how much his belly would slow him down should he happen upon me, what would happen if he did catch me with my ass hanging out of dumpster...and I felt the rush start. Not the underwear filling jolt of the day before, but the seep of adrenalin nonetheless. Somehow, because my brain had been refamiliarized so recently it was a mirthful not dreadul kind of sensation.

I kept thinking, "What do I do?"...I want those magazines...I can almost reach them...where is that guy? what if I get caught?"

Simultaneously, I am deducing that my 10 year old could definitely fit through the hatch in it and get my quarry.

"Hey Jake!"
Looking around and gesturing him out of the car.

"C'mere! C'mere! C'mere!"

"Hurryup!"

10 year old curiousity got the better of him 'cause I knew if I had said point blank,"Hey Jake, come climb in this dumpster for me," he would have locked me out of the car.

Anyway so I get him in there and keep telling him, "Hurryup!hurryup! just get'em-- get'em..." In the meantime, the peanut gallery in the car is squealing with glee,"Ewwwwwww Jake is in a dumpster! Grooooooooooooss!!!...

The sibling commentary slows down Jake a bit as he considers his predicament and vacillates between the enjoyment of seeing his mother in this hopped up state, doing something that borders on the illegal or at the very least unseemly and what kind of grief he is and will be getting from his sibs for knocking around in a dumpster. He hesitates. I cajole.

"Boy get in that dumpster before we get caught!"

"How am I gonna get out?"

"I'll get you out for chrissakes!! (looking around)HURRYUP!"

We do get all the mags out in a box and in the car. He got into the front seat and smiled sideways at me, but refused to let me off the hook completely...afterall his mother did stick him in a dumpster...albeit an empty one save for the box of magazines. Now had we been behind a clinic or a restaurant, of course I wouldn't have slid my 1st born into one--though The Flowchart for Determining Dumpsters, Their Circumstances and Whether I would Place the Fruit of My Womb in One is another post.

I have a new perspective where fear is concerned. Some of it can sneak up on you, some you suck around for and some--the kind I am most familiar with never gets past a general worry. I have that kind DOWN.

The fear I am used to is over a kid with a high temp on a Friday night, why Ethan has taken to hair twirling and will this mean therapy or if I can make it through Thanksgiving with the sisters in law. Or it's what I feel when I see on my milsupport boards that a fellow supporter has lost one of their guys. Leave me with no emails from Iraq for three or four days and all sorts of scenarios get built slowly in a corner of my head only to get knocked down like a house of cards when I get some kind of smart ass email about being attacked by dwarves (translation...things have been busy here and boring...but we are fine.) Wheeeeew. The fear I am most familiar with is the slow kind, not the in-your-face kind whether I have found a way to put myself there or I am pushed.

If I am so used to the worry kind of fear, I really should reconsider the colon cleansing kind and the kind that I can deliberately choose to participate in...kids like it don't they? Generally they haven't screwed things up in their minds as much as an adult has. Maybe I should take a lesson from them.