"We Don't Let Dorothy Crack The Eggs Anymore" Chapter 18 "Debris Day"

Periodically (and not so comma-cly), mothers face a dog of a day -- when you end up barking and snarling and hoping if you play dead, maybe they'll all go away - - which we dub "D" Day.

"D" Day is Debris Day.

As holidays and festivals fall, so Debris Day must follow. And so you sit muttering out a melody like "Debris and I" while you survey the mop-up operation, a task complicated by monsoony days with restless children at bay when they should be at play.

Getting past Halloween this year was more of a trick than a treat, diluted by a double-header rainy weekend.
That is to say, loot bags were dampened, some subsequently burst on the darkened sidewalks and there we were, next day, retracing our steps in the soggy, soggy dew.

Halloween is a night we must take literally. Every litterbug in town must have hit our walk and for this the parents have to take the rap...err wrap. Stew about what's been strewn about, but if it's any consolation, pick-ups are good for the waistline. (It's pick-me-ups that stretch the girth, remember??)

Added to the debris at my house was pain inflicted by cellophane. Red strands which swung in diminutive hula skirts that made Hawaiian maidens out of my two nursery school lasses, made every room look like New Year's Eve at the Legion Hall. (Even found strands poking out of my shoe at church.)

What hurts most is the leftover loot. Not just packets of goodies destined to be hidden until dole-out time, but the homemade yummies I concocted.

How would you like candy apples was my question and did I ever get into a sticky situation!

Recipes note that moist weather calls for boiling beyond the 310 degree stage, so I obeyed. The apples were duly steeped in the red syrup but they quickly came unglued. I even tried melting caramels to sugar up the apples. What faces me is a lineup of shiny Jonathans sitting in a gravy of caramel that came loose. Not even Fagin's urchins would partake of these offerings. Trick-or-treaters winced and said, "Nyah! Icky!"

And how would you like to hear from your own flesh-and-blood, "Can't you just wash all that goo off the apples?"

My debris also includes pumpkin seeds which were toasted after I carved a giant jack-o-lantern face. (Recalling last year's debacle, I tossed away the pumpkin's innards and nixed the pie bit.) The toasted seeds are soggy.

Tricked by a whim of weather, I've been skewered. What the Druids started, the fluids finished. All that time shot in the kitchen and what have I got to show for it?

Debris. D is also for.....darnit.