Conversations with my child

Me: So, Clem, we really need to decide what you want to be for Halloween.
Clem: I want to be the same butterfly as last year.
Me: No. It is much too holy of a day for you to repeat what you were before.
Clem: Okay, I have to think about it.
*thinks*
Clem: Okay, mom, I know…I want to be Lady Gaga.
Me: ?
*pause*
Me: Um, you’re 3, Clem, you realize that you will only have like 3 of her outfits as possible choices, right?
Clem: That’s fine, mom. I’ll just pick one of those three.
Me: Great.

So, yesterday I ordered 5 dozen clear plastic orb ornaments online.  Can you guess which Gaga she wants to be?

Disinterments

So, I had a disinterment this week. A family wanted their mother shipped to another state after having been buried here for 15 years. Luckily, her casket is metal, and she had been buried in a full vault, not just a liner (I suppose you'll need a vocab lesson for those), but not luckily the casket was quite rusty, and she's kinda gross looking I'm sure. But you know what is the best part? This particular cemetery didn't make me climb in the hole to inspect everything first. Nope, they just had me show up after getting her out of the ground, helped me put her in the car, and that was that.

See, thus is how it usually happens: I get to the cemetery when they are digging the hole and once they hit the vault they take off the lid and tell me to go on in to make sure the casket is in good enough shape for them to lift out. I have to open it to make sure the bottom won't fall out either. It smells. I gag profusely while the cemetery guys watch. I have to swallow my own puke. It. Is. Gross. The sit I wore that day has to be thrown away, not even the dry cleaner can get the smell off. My hair smells for days. My skin feels disgusting. The odor is in my noise hairs and I can't get it out. It's really bad.

So, this week's disinterment? Cake walk.

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