Halloween Roundup

Just Call Me "Booge"

Don't get me wrong, there are many things I like about Halloween. I enjoy helping my kids with their costumes; I like to wear a little whimsical something myself. I adore candy. I have a compulsion to buy any decorative item that features black cats with their backs arched.

But I don't like answering the door a bazillion times between 5 and 9 pm. If you are a mother, or certainly if you are I (grammar?), between 5 and 9 pm you are helping people put their costumes on, making dinner, straightening up the living room, checking homework, fielding phone calls, putting children to bed...often simultaneously. I have to keep reminding myself that I will get to see the adorable children in their costumes and give them my carefully chosen treats (carefully chosen to be totally unappealing to me so there will be any treats left by nightfall).

Winners last night: twin Marilyn Monroes.


Throwing Stuff Away Update

Last year Santa (nudge nudge, wink wink) fell in love with some inflatable Tiki heads at the dollar store. Both R.'s and Uncle S. got them in their stockings and were distinctly underwhelmed. They floated around the house for a while. Then in my current frenzy I went through not-so-little R.'s desk and threw away with joyful abandon.

On Sunday, before the parade, I thought R.'s Indiana Jones costume could use a finishing touch, in addition to the hat, jacket, whip and gun. An idol, like the one he takes at the beginning of "Raiders"! The tiki! I went upstairs with a heavy heart, hoping against hope that I had not thrown away the tiki, but it seemed likely, especially since it was a painful reminder of a failed gift.

But no, at least one tiki was still kicking around (in not-so-big R.'s study, where things go to stay alive forever)!

Now I can toss it. I think.


How Siblings Can Differ

Last night, in lieu of a truly spooky story, I read my children Stephen Vincent Benet's The King of the Cats, one of my all-time favorites. It has an extremely elevated vocabulary and arch style, and I wondered about a quarter of the way through whether they were getting it. Being polite children, they didn't interrupt. M. fell asleep. When I finished, S. said, "That was a great story," nestled into the pillow, and was heard from no more.

Not-so-little R. was completely terrorized, afraid to go anywhere in the house alone, and asked me to please never say "Then I'm the King of the Cats!" ever, ever again.


And Now For Something Really Scary

M. has her every-nine-months cardiologist appointment today. I could use everyone's psychic help in remembering to breathe while driving there.