Today is the Day of the Dead and All Saints’ Day.
4.15am. I am woken by a Halloween sugar hangover from hell, my tummy is about to explode and in my head I can hear the echo of my children whingeing like reality show contestants. I would run around our house screaming like a lunatic if only I had the energy. Yesterday afternoon I ate too many red ones, blue ones, green ones, pink ones, yellow ones, orange ones, brown ones, purple ones, striped, spotted, dappled, multi coloured, mottled, dusted and sugar coated ones. There is a beautiful tree-lined street one block from my house and every Halloween the residents hold a street party/sugar orgy, handing out kilos of chocolate and lollies to all the kids. Word has gotten out in my part of the world that the costumes and decorations are fabulous and the hard stuff is freely available. People come from everywhere and the local clocks switch over to beer o’clock at about 3pm. Because I am a fabulous cheapskate mother, I painted my children’s faces green and sent them out to forage for their dinner. Keeping children off the sweet stuff is hard when you are a sugar substance abuser from way back. In order to keep my kids from developing a major addiction, I selflessly rationed their sweeties before tucking them in bed, then proceeded to scoff their lolly bags like a junkie at 8.30pm. I looked in the mirror at about midnight and my face resembled a Green M+M. So very attractive. Lucky for me it is the Day of the Dead today because I look like death warmed up. Single mother commandment no: 78: Thou shalt not skip lunch and dinner for dessert just because the neighbours are paying for the meal.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
And weep afresh love’s long since cancelled woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanished sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restor’d and sorrows end.