Here I am! With a few hours left in the first day of November, I’m getting in a post by the skin of my teeth. Speaking of that, how many of you feel like you have socks on your teeth from all the sugar you’ve eaten today?

Halloween was kind of a bust around here, what with the rain and the FREEZING, but somehow my kids managed to get plenty of junk. The adults managed to drink plenty of beer too, because we roll redneck in Ohio. It makes the cold bearable. Almost.

I won’t lie. I didn’t craft together my son’s costume until about an hour before trick-or-treat, because of the wicked witch that blew through earlier this week, I just wasn’t into it this year. Hurricane Sandy kind of ruined the spirit of Halloween. Get it? Spirit. People, this is as good as it’s going to get if I’m posting every day.

Now that my kids have dressed up for Halloween a combined total of 25 times I am apparently tired of taking pictures of them in their costumes. I got one photo of my daughter with a glaring flash, none of my two kids together and two pictures of my son which, if pieced together, make his full costume. Take this duct tape covered parka…

…and combine it with this mustache (instead of the one above that I crookedly drew on with waterproof mascara)…

…and you have the total look.

I win at mothering, no? Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to them at Thanksgiving. I’ll give them all the dark meat and I won’t let their dad deep-fry the turkey again. You’re welcome, kids. You’re welcome.

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I have been known to worry. A little. Okay, a lot. In all fairness to myself my worrying is not for naught, because I am also graced with really bad luck.

My husband is always quick to tell me to stop with the hand-wringing, already. Sure, it would be nice if he gently smacked my hands when I’m picking at my cuticles or if he would quietly tell me to have a seat if I’m pacing the floor. Instead he says, “Quit freaking out!” and leaves it at that.

Last week, we were getting ready to go to my mom’s house for dinner when my 13 year old daughter came downstairs wearing athletic shorts, a t-shirt, running socks and dressy, black flats.

I wouldn’t want her to have to go upstairs and change, or anything, because OH, THE EFFORT, but I couldn’t just let her walk out the door looking like that. I said, “You can’t wear those shoes with that outfit.”

She looked down and had apparently lost her vision, because she eyed her feet and then asked, “Why not?”

I shook my head. “Because! Do you really want someone to see you like that? What if we get in an accident on the way there?”

My husband countered with his anti-anxiety speech, “Seriously, you’re worried about that? What if I die on the way there!”

And even though no one asked him, my son looked at his dad and said, “Well, then I’d ask Mom to drive.”

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My husband made a comment about my blog being heavy with sponsored content right now and I agree. I know I don’t have to explain it, but I want to. You will see more ads and more sponsored posts than usual (at least for the time being) for three reasons:

1) Companies are interested in this space because readers show up. When I write a review post, the majority of the time this includes a giveaway for one of you. Gift cards, game systems, Kindles…many goodies are offered because these brands understand that social media is word of mouth, times infinity. Twitter is the old corner store and Facebook is the old front porch. You like something, you share it, they do more business. My reviews don’t just benefit me, they benefit you because brands know that blog readers are a social media savvy group.

2) I don’t review or promote anything that I haven’t tried and believe in. My recent Kings Island and Microsoft Office posts, for example? One-hundred percent authentic. Tonight I’m reviewing wine (and there will be something in it for a reader). I will also tell you the truth about this wine, especially if I drink a bunch of it first. I am nothing if not honest. I just told you people about my colonoscopy for crying out loud.

3) We’re broke. Like, FLAT broke. We have medical bills that are mounting so high it’s starting to look like an episode of “Hoarders” up in here. Hearing aids, sleep apnea, intestinal emergencies, congenital heart disease, and this week we add an orthodontist to the mix because my son’s roots have so little room that they’re actually deteriorating. Yippee! This is why it makes perfect sense that we went out the other day and bought this:

No, this is not sponsored by CarMax. They gave me nothing. I’m just so used to taking sponsored photos that it must be instinct.

Okay, in our defense we had NO intention of buying a new (to us) car. But, at merely five years old and only 43,000 miles, oh…and manufactured by a non-existent car company *hi, Saturn!* they made us an offer we couldn’t refuse. Not to mention that our 15 year old SUV was, quite literally, falling apart around us. No, really. I didn’t feel safe in it and certainly didn’t like my children sitting in a back seat with doors that wouldn’t open. Also, it’s for sale! Call me!

So, there you have it. You may have to scroll through some sponsored content with more frequency for awhile, but I still like to think you’ll show up.

Of course, that could be the free wine talking.

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Within hours of putting up my last post, I was in the hospital. You can’t make this stuff up, people.

It started with a dull ache on my lower right side and ended with sharp pain in the same spot that spread across my belly. I went to the ER thinking that I had an appendicitis or kidney stone and ended up being admitted so that I could prep for a colonoscopy. Yippee!

Everything you’ve ever heard about a colonscopy is true. The prep is the worst part, but what no one tells you is that IT’S NOT THAT BAD. I drink an entire bottle of Miralax powder mixed into frozen Gatorade and thanks to the Dilaudid I was on, I thought I was drinking a slushie.

Of course, that didn’t work because my bowels? They are stubborn. So at 4:00am I drank Golytely (pronounced, Go Lightly, because someone has a sick sense of humor) mixed with iced-down Shasta. At this point I had been up for 48 hours, was hopped up on pain meds and was very thirsty. Golytely went down (and out) without a problem. You’re welcome.

The colonscopy itself? Who cares! After Versed and Demorol you’ll look like this when they wheel you in.

What is that thing hanging from the ceiling? You’re going to put that in my innards? Okay!

Another thing no one tells you (and this could be because they’re too embarrassed, but I’ve already said, “innards” so I obviously have no shame) is that you will have intestines full of air when you are done. My step-mom told me I’d be gassy, but that term doesn’t really do it justice. I’ll just say that I’m glad I didn’t have a roommate, or visitors, and that my husband is, quite possibly, the most understanding man on the planet (who, for the record, canceled a THIRD trip out of town because of MY medical emergencies) (he wins for best husband).

All in all, the colonoscopy wasn’t the horrible experience people seem to think it is. I even got to hallucinate a little bit!

My pain was diagnosed as an inflammatory bowel flare-up. I don’t have Crohn’s, or cancer, or anything awful. The doctor said it was likely brought on by stress and told me to start meditating, and breathing, and stop clenching my teeth. I said, “Give me more Dilaudid and we’ll talk.”

So, I have a counter full of new medicines to take (for now) and I was cleared for travel to New York in a couple of days.

And now? Katie Couric and I totally have something to talk about.

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