Boo-tiful Door Hanger {how to}

Halloween is my favorite holiday. I love to dress up and be someone or something else for a day. I also love the candy that comes with it. We all know kids can't possibly eat all of it by themselves!

However, if you saw my house during the month of October, you may not realize it was my favorite time of year. I am lacking in the Halloween decoration department. I could go to the store and by decorations to fill my house, but being a crafty person, I would rather make my own.

Halloween door hanger
You don't have to be a super crafty person to make this wall (or door) hanger. All you need to be able to do is cut and glue. Here's how you can make your own!


Wood letters - I used 6 inch letters
3 sheets of scrapbook paper
Black paint
White paint
Paint brushes - 1 regular, 1 sponge brush
Mod Podge
Orange yarn
Wood ghosts
Black Sharpie

1. Paint the sides of your letters with the black paint

Halloween door hanger

2. Trace the outline of your letters on the scrapbook paper. Cut the letters out.

3. Using the sponge brush, apply a thin coat of Mod Podge to the front of your letters and apply the paper letter accordingly.

Wait approximately 20 minutes then apply a thin coat of Mod Podge on the top of the letters.

Halloween door hanger

4. Cut 3 strands of orange yarn. Tie each letter together. Making a loop, tie the final strand around the top of the B.

Halloween door hanger
5. If you choose to add the ghosts, paint them white. After the paint dries, use a Sharpie to draw faces. Using a hot glue gun or regular white glue, add the ghosts to your hanger.

Happy Halloween!

Prompt #3 - Share a Halloween craft

The Bitch

Hello there. How are you? My name is Skinny Bitch.

Some of you out there may be jealous. I'm here to explain why you shouldn't be.

1. People aren't always nice to the Skinny Bitch

The previous owners of our house had a thing for mirrors in the bedroom (shudder). The husband and I being too lazy to take them down, we left them on the walls. Trust me when I say I am well aware of what I look like. I'm that skinny bitch everyone loves to hate. It's genetics, and while I usually don't like it, it is what it is. People pointing out my size, telling me to eat (I do), and using words like "anorexic" (I'm not) - it sucks.

2. Compliments can be taken too far

People compliment me on my clothes. I always love that! Following your compliment with "it's sickening how skinny you are" - I don't like that. My body image is already in the shitter. Those follow-ups definitely don't do much to raise my views of myself. I shouldn't feel like I need to crawl into a hole when someone who wants to buy me clothes, especially pants, asks what size to get.

3. Belts

Lovely accessories. Pain in the ass when they are a requirement. Not everyone has junk in their trunk. Not everyone has wide hips. Shop in the Junior department you say? I suppose I could if I wanted to look like a hooch. Mini skirts, halter tops, and shorts that say "cute" on the ass? No thank you! Being over 30 and lacking in the boob department, the teeny bopper look does nothing for me.

Some of you out there may want to lose weight. I may not agree, but if should choose to pursue that quest, perhaps you could help me out.

Anything baggage you no longer need or want can be sent my way. Please send it to...

Skinny Bitch
123 Hookagirlup Road
Skinnytown, USA 55555

PS. Something to help my boobs in those packages would be greatly appreciated.

Which way to turn?

When I first became a mom, I never thought of it as a difficult task.

I was 10 when my brother was born. I was old enough to help feed him and by 11 I could cloth diaper a baby like nobody's business. I was not required to do these things, but I did like to help. I was also old enough to remember the steps my parents took when my baby brother was sick.

A few years after he was born I began to babysit. Not only my brother, my other children in the neighborhood. After high school, I spent 2 summers working in day care. After college, I spent many more years working in day care full time.

These years of experience taught me how to care for children. Day care cannot prepare you for those middle of the night feedings, but I felt well prepared to handle the rest.

I was not one to call the doctor for every sniffle or fever. I may have called for advice, but I would not press for my child to be seen unless they still were not better after 2 days of over the counter medications. I panicked when my daughter had her first asthma attack, but having watched my brother go through similar experiences, I still knew what to do. Having my mom with me that day didn't hurt either.

My children are now older, and I still am not one to fuss over every little thing. I do not jump and run when they fall. I let them climb every slide at the playground, as well as the surrounding trees. I know what to do at home when my daughter has asthma issues. I also know when to call the doctor for her asthma.

I am not one to worry, but this is beginning to change.

For quite a few days, my son, who is 6, has been complaining of a belly ache. Mostly in the mornings before school. I have talked to him many times asking if something is going on at school. He can tell me and I won't be mad. I can't fix it if I don't know. His only reply is his belly hurts.

Since he has no other symptoms and is usually fine by the end of the day, unless I mention his tender belly, I send him to school. The papers he brings home are full of check marks and stars. He always tells me who he played with and sometimes, if I'm lucky, what he learned in class.

I thought about emailing his teacher or sending a note asking for a conference. My brother pulled this stunt on my mom more times than I can count. I don't want my child to not want to go to school.

The husband was out of town and perhaps that was related. I decided to keep an eye on my boy to see if his belly ache continues. But now he has another symptom to add to the list. His head.

When sitting in the back of the class, his head hurt when he touched it. I asked where. Behind his ear. Did he bump it? Did he fall? No, he answered.

Perhaps he needs glasses. I know that's inevitable. But why would his head hurt when he touched it?

I am at a loss. I don't know which way to turn. Do I talk with his teacher? Perhaps something in class is causing him grief. Do I call the doctor and hope they don't brush me away because of a silly belly ache?

pour your heart out

Nebby pickers

My midgets were supposed to be cleaning up their mess in the living. What was actually happening was them asking a thousand and one questions about a truck parked across the street.

Our neighbor's ex (I think) has a truck. Perhaps it was him. Mr. Shortman across the street has a too big truck. Perhaps he was, yet again, trying to get it into his driveway in one attempt.

At first I tried to ignore the questions, but being nebby myself, their questions got the better of me. I finally looked out the window. A white truck was parked across the street. I finally asked question one thousand and two - where was the driver?

The driver was on our side of the street with his passenger looking though people's trash. Of course! Why didn't we think of trash pickers in the first place?!

By the looks of what was in the bed of that truck, I assumed they were looking for scrap metal and such that they could turn around and make some money from. But then I took a closer look.

trash pickers

I don't know about you, but I see a metal headboard, a couch, perhaps a dresser, and I do believe that's a washer and dryer set sticking out of the back. Upon further inspection, I noticed the washer, dryer, and couch were all bungeed to the truck. Because bungee cords are going to keep all that heavy stuff in place as they drive up the hill.

I'm so glad I was in my house at the time and not in the car behind them!

Scrubbing desks

I have a secret.

One that I keep to myself
when away from immediate family.

I am not ashamed. In fact, I am quite proud.

I keep my secret to myself because of how it makes others feel.

My daughter is smart. Very smart. I am not saying this just because she is my daughter. I am not saying this so I can write a "my kid is better than yours" post. That's how she is.

She has always excelled in school. Homework has always been a breeze. A few teachers have told me she does things above her grade level.

I realize my daughter is different when I talk about these things to friends. Their child may struggle with certain subjects. Homework may take hours. I don't meant to compare our children. I don't mean to make them feel disappointed. But that is what happens.

Their child may get in trouble for not doing their work. My child gets in trouble for finishing her work too fast and drawing on her desk because she is bored.

I am incredibly proud of my daughter. I will continue to challenge her and push her to her full potential. I will try to work with her teacher so we can avoid future punishments.

But sometimes guilt makes me keep my proud secret to myself.

Pour Your Heart Out

Today, in honor

Today I hang my flag.

I hang it for everyone. In one way or another, we have all been effected by the tragic events of September 11, 2001.

Today I hang my flag.

I hang it for the innocent who are no longer here.

I hang it for those who were faced with the impossible decision of staying to die or jumping to die.

I hang it for those who sacrificed their life to save another.

Today I hang my flag.

My flag is a symbol of freedom.

My flag is a symbol of unity.

When faced with adversity and tragedy, we will come together.

We will rise above.

We will come out stronger.

Today I hang my flag.

My children will know out of tragedy comes strength, courage, and hope.

The innocent, the heroes, the survivors.

My children know.

We will not forget.

Song inspired by the events of 9/11

Communication is key

Love, friendship, trust, common interests and values. I believe all of those need to be well established before you step into the world of marriage. Once you are married, communication needs to be added to those core values.

Communication is key.

Men are not always good at picking up on our subtle hints. If us ladies want something done or want to go somewhere specific, we must spell it out word for word. I'm not trying to cut men down. Men and women are just wired different.

While I have learned to spell things out word for word, I think my husband needs to take a lesson in letting his wife in on events that happen within our house.

Perfect example.....

After a morning out with a friend, I came home to relax before starting my round 2. I turned on my radio, opened up Gmail, and logged into Facebook. As I'm humming away to the music, I hear a noise. Being home alone, I'm often a little skittish. I turn off the radio and cock my head. Because cocking one's head helps you hear better, right?

I don't hear the noise again so I blame it on the rain. It must be water dripping off the porch roof onto some toy or another the boy left outside.

I turn the radio back on and continue to read my email. I hear it again. Off goes the radio and up I stand, head cocked. A scratching sound. Coming from the kitchen. Close to the fridge.

I jump on chat and frantically type out what I heard to the husband. There is something not human in this house! His reply?

"Mouse me thinks"

Um... what?!

He then goes on to explain that he heard a similar noise the day before as well as that morning.

Um, hi! Cluing me in would have been nice. It is a much better idea to tell your wife about a possible mouse than it is to let her see it run across the kitchen with no prior knowledge of it's existence!

This is not our first experience with a mouse, but it is the first experience with one in our house. That I know of. Obviously we need to work on our communication skills.

I know I'll hold up my end of communicating that the husband is in charge of setting up the traps and disposing of the little bugger should he be caught!

I miss my childhood

I miss my childhoodI miss my childhood.

The waxy smell of a freshly opened box of crayons. Any color was mine for the choosing.

Bright, cheery yellow

Calm, soothing blue

Make me giggle and smile like the girl I was pink.

I was free to color whatever I wanted, however I wanted. Trees don't always have green leaves when you are 5. Sometimes they can be purple. And, if I was so inclined, I could make the sun orange. It didn't matter if I colored out of the lines. Mom loved my pictures no matter what they looked like. Each and everyone was carefully hung on the fridge with one of Grandma's numerous chicken magnets.

I miss my childhood.

Cookies were baked with Grandma in the weeks leading to Christmas. Flour covered our shirts and the table. Red icing on my cheek from the itch I scratched. While Grandma turned to place the next batch in the oven, I would quietly grab a ball of dough from the next batch to be made.

I miss my childhood.

Endless days playing hide-n-seek or riding bikes from one friend's house to the next. Out all day until the street lights came on.

Countless winter days grumbling while mom bundled me up. Her efforts led to hours of sledding and snowman building. When all 3 layers of pants were wet and I could no longer feel my toes, Mom was always there with hot chocolate in hand.

I miss my childhood.

Crayons have been replaced by pens and keyboards. My work must be precise and I must always, always stay in the lines. Leaves are now green and the sun is always yellow. My work is no longer displayed on the fridge. Instead it is full of lists and reminders.

I miss my childhood.

In the weeks leading to Christmas, my children and I bake. We have icing and sprinkles and flour in our hair. But they must never, ever eat the dough. There are raw eggs in there and we don't want anyone sick. Although I do know they sneak tastes as I once did.

I miss my childhood.

It is too cold for me to go outside. I zip all the zippers and tie both of their scarves. They grumble as I fidget. Are your feet all the way in? Are you mittens on tight?

I watch my children build snow forts as I place one clean shirt onto the pile. They slide down our hill as I try to find a match for yet another sock. I must hurry and finish so I have time to make hot chocolate before they are too cold.

I miss my childhood.

Write on edgeThis week’s Write on Edge prompt is to use the image above for your inspiration and begin your post with those words…”I miss my childhood…”

Word limit- 500
My count- 443

Constructive criticism always welcome