They're Kids, (Probably) Not Devil Worshippers

I get it, okay? I get that Halloween is a religious battle ground littered with words like 'heretic' and 'satanic' and 'devil-worshipping' . What I don't get is why.

I am someone who likes to have my views respected, and I am also someone who worked for Planned Parenthood so I know firsthand that when people disagree with you, it's often in a jerkface way. Jerkface-ness is not what I promote in my life or on my blog, so I am going to try very hard not to offend anyone.

That being said, I have seen multiple articles this month from Christians promoting an array of theories on how to use Halloween to spread the gospel of Jesus. One article claimed that Christians should turn their porch lights on to 'lure' trick-or-treaters to the door, and then instead of giving them candy, the Christian homeowner should tell the children about Jesus and give them a Bible.

Really? People REALLY think that handing a 5 year old dressed as Nemo a Bible for Halloween after intentionally tricking them about getting candy is going to make them interested in Jesus? I don't. Because I've been a kid before. And while I thankfully never received a Bible on Halloween, I did receive the disappointing reality of a toothbrush from a dentist, fruit from a nutritionist, and a book from a teacher.

None of those things are bad - as an adult, I like all of the aforementioned things, including the Bible. But I fail to see how scheming a harmless trick-or-treater into hearing about Jesus on a night that they expect candy is going to do any good. Nor do I understand why people would want to be 'that' house. If you want to show people who Jesus is, be like Him. Meet people where they are (like, you know, a kid in a costume on your front porch), greet them with a smile and a kind word, be remembered for your hospitality and good temperament.

While I'm on the subject, I don't like the judgment I'm seeing from Christians about this holiday. I recently read another article claiming that children who trick-or-treat are worshipping the devil without even knowing it and the parents who allow it are promoting an anti-Christian agenda. Again, REALLY?!

If you don't celebrate Halloween, fine. If you do celebrate, but have rules for what types of characters your child can be, fine. If you just don't want to pass out candy, fine. Your house, your beliefs, your rules.

My husband is a pastor, we are heavily involved in the Christian faith, we get it. And for our family, we've already decided that if our future kid wants to dress up as an age-appropriate character, we're fine with it. That is, assuming there will still be age-appropriate (read: anything without the word 'slutty' in the title) costumes by the time we produce trick-or-treaters. If you disagree with that, also fine. As someone who once went trick-or-treating dressed as a devil, I'm fine with it. As someone who is a very proud Arizona State University 'Sun Devil' alumni that has been asked by Christians how I could EVER attend a 'satanic' school, I'm fine with it. Because just like my beloved college mascot, it's just a costume. And they're just kids.

They're just kids. Some are Christian and some are Atheist and some are Agnostic and some are other faiths. Beneath the costume and the politics that adults are trying to throw onto them, they're just kids. They have looked forward to dressing up for days, weeks, and months. They've proudly posed for pictures, and carefully picked out the bucket they'll use to carry their candy. They will be asked to grow up far too fast, and this may be the last year that they get to enjoy the night with a child's heart. They're probably not devil worshippers (Who cares if they are? Is candy just for Christian kids?), they're just kids in a costume who want some candy. For my part, I'm fine with it. And I think Jesus is, too.

Married With Guitars

It's official: we've successfully completed 730 days of wedded bliss. Two years ago today, we stood in front of 315 guests and pledged our love to one another. When reflecting about our anniversary recently, I asked Ryan if it felt like it had been 2 years already and he said "It actually feels like a lot longer." Make that 729 days of wedded bliss.

I erred on the side of sweet when I assumed he meant that it's just hard to think of when our lives were once separate. He gladly took the free pass and nodded in total agreement. No wonder it's been a pretty easy first couple of years - he's a charmer!

This date will always be bittersweet for me, as today also marks 3 years since I lost one of my very favorite people in the whole world - my Uncle Terry. I loved him dearly and am so sad to think that 3 years have gone by without him!

He was very ornery; his trait that I miss the most. When I 'graduated' from Kindergarten, our teacher had us perform a silly song that I vaguely remember being based off of a mother's exotic soup recipe. The song recounted ingredients such as 'alligator eyes' and 'salamander thighs' and various other off-putting delicacies. And from the first time I ever sang that song for him, Uncle Terry took to making his own outrageous animal combinations. From that day forth, I answered to 'Elephant Butt', 'Rhinoceros Nose', and any number of other friendly jabs. Being that I was 5, the most creative response I could come up with was 'Buzzard Beak'. In his final days, as the pain medication grew stronger with the cancer, Uncle Terry's spunk never waivered, and he christened me with my last and possibly favorite moniker, 'Boogaloo Boobs'. 

Ryan never met him, but he has seen pictures and heard all of the stories. And even though Buzzard Beak wasn't physically there at our wedding, I will never celebrate this day without also celebrating him. And Ryan has taken a very big lesson from Uncle Terry, who had been married to my Aunt Sandy for 41 years, by never once comparing any part of my body to that of an animal, or a boogaloo.

As the seasoned married couple we now are with two years under our belt, we chose to forego a trip or fancy presents and just celebrate our anniversary together, like in our every day life. Ryan took me to Granite City for lunch - the same place he took me the night that he proposed. As we dined, we talked about how our lives (and the menu --- BRING BACK THE CHEESY HASHBROWNS!) have changed over the last two years.

Something that hasn't changed, and probably never will, is Ryan's love for guitars. Since we've been together, he's saved and sold and wheeled and dealed to add to/change his collection more times than I can count. Each guitar ends up with a female name (it helps me differentiate a strat from a tele and a Martin from a Taylor - don't judge!). While I love and support his musical talent, I have recently started having dreams that he wants me to give my wedding ring to the telecaster named Tina. I'm no psychologist, but I may have some slight jealousy issues. Anyway, being that I have been extra protective of my time with him, and my wedding ring, he has put all guitar shopping and most of his 'extracurricular' playing on hold.

Being that I'm an awesome wife, after lunch today I decided to drive him to the guitar shop and spend some time browsing with him. At the 2 year mark, I believe that I have been a musician's wife long enough to see the writing on the wall and know that any given window shopping day may turn into an actual shopping day. I wish I could say that he begged and pleaded to buy a guitar on our anniversary, but he didn't. He mentioned that he liked one, played it, said he really liked it, and I begged him to get it. I've either been brainwashed, or I really am in the running for wife of the year.

Last year, our gifts followed tradition and were made of paper. The second year is supposed to be cotton, but we took a few liberties and made it a solid body guitar with dual humbucker, double cream vintage binding, and block style inlays. She's beautiful, 36" long, 13.5 lbs, and we're working on a name. I'm not certain, but I think the third year is the year of the Jimmy Choo!

With love,

Heidi, Ryan, and our unnamed beauty

Oh Caramello, Where Art Thou?

I have a dirty, dirty secret. I'm not proud to say this, but I have to come clean. I'm cheating on Ryan.

My new love is an old love, really. We have been in an on-again-off-again relationship for over 10 years. He's rich, he spoils me with decadency, I dream of him when we're apart, and he's...he's...well, he's a candy bar. I am in a pretty unhealthy (literally and figuratively) love affair with Cadbury's greatest creation - the Caramello candy bar.

For those of you who may be unfamiliar, Caramello really is the BEST candy bar around. It consists of luscious creamy caramel hidden in a soft milk chocolate treasure box. In true Cadbury fashion, they used to only be available around Easter time, but now they are within reach all year long. Wonderful news for my taste buds, terrible news for my hips.

Remember when I said this was my dirty secret? I meant it. As a former fat kid, I really do try to make good decisions about nutrition. I believe that treats like candy bars are fine, as long as they are true treats and are consumed in moderation. But there's something about those sweet caramel nuggets that have consumed me.

I shouldn't call it cheating I guess, considering that Ryan is well aware of my love for Caramello. He aids and abets this habit, in fact. Whenever he sees one, he sweetly brings one (or two - don't judge me!) home for me. He sees how hard I work to make those good nutritional choices, so he supports the occasional indulgence.

'Occasional' is a really loose term - so if I were to, hypothetically of course, say that I defined an occasional Caramello indulgence as once a day, that technically wouldn't be untrue. Right? Let's just agree to agree on this one. Upon recently having a slight acne outbreak, I told my husband that it must be due to a new medication I am using. When he gently danced around the possibility of my pimple being caused by the amount of Caramellos I had been eating, I exclaimed that 'I haven't had one in TWO days!' According to Ryan, the mere fact that I think two days without a Caramello is an impressive feat means that I do, in reality, have a problem.

Okay. Maybe I do have a problem.  If I look back closely, I guess I can see the warning signs. I may or may not choose the checkout lane I frequent at the grocery store based on whether there is a Caramello there or not. And I may or may not be finding remnants of Caramello wrapper in places where I know I haven't eaten one -  like the car, and in the laundry, and perhaps most depressing, the bathtub. Yes, I said bathtub.

This is not my proudest moment. Most delicious? Perhaps. I'd like to say that this post is a cry for help, but it really isn't. If loving Caramello is wrong, I don't want to be right.