There have been few victories since Andre passed away. Little ones, yes; remembering when the garbage goes out, scheduling lawn cutting, feeding the girls on a somewhat normal schedule, getting out of bed, being mostly pleasant, smiling. I even got a shot a an actual relationship (laughable). I said a shot. It, like most other things got shot right to hell, but my dating and all the joy that comes along with it is fodder for another post.

This is about this week.

My favorite question of late:

What are you being for Halloween?


How about when someone asks me my plans for Halloween, can I say, “I plan on getting drunk?” No? Awesome.

I’m going to do the same thing I’ve done for each milestone or holiday that has preceded the last, fake it. Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Easter, my birthday, and so on. I’ve faked being happy or excited. I’ve half-assed the decorations, the goody bags, the parties, the gifts. I do it because I can’t not.

“Hey girls, all celebrations and holidays are canceled for the foreseeable future because mommy isn’t feeling it?” That’ll go over well. Oh, and by the way.. Santa isn’t real.

I realize that my parenting style isn’t really award worthy as of late, but even I’m not that much of an asshole. I need to pull up my big girl panties and make the best of it for my girls, they deserve at least that after the shit they’ve been dealt.

So, like the dutiful mama I am, I wore the teal and purple hooded dragon onsie carefully picked out by my littles and took them trick or treating. And they loved it. They fell happily into sugar comas and I fell into my bed with my feet and my heart aching for sleep and a new beginning. I guess a glass of wine and some crappy TV will have to suffice for now.

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