Halloween truism the first: If you set out a bowl of mixed candy, with the Heath bars all on the bottom and well-hidden under the lollipops, you will still come home to a bowl devoid of Heath bars, even if there are lollipops left.
Halloween truism the second: The more elaborate and clever the costume, the more the wearer will want to remove it RIGHT NOW.
Halloween truism the third: Someone always ends up sick.
Happy freaking Halloween.
No, really, we had a nice evening. Except for how Chickadee needed her hair done JUST SO and I spent an inordinate amount of time pinning it up and making it meet her specifications, and then her friend arrived and they ran around and most of it fell out despite the protective shell of hairspray I’d doused her with.
And except for how Monkey discovered that his most excellent costume was, in fact, both too hot and hard to walk around in without tripping. After the first few houses, he also felt the need to point out that he was SUFFOCATING! And he did not seem amused when I pointed out that that was sort of like a REAL MUMMY, isn’t that NEAT?
(Oh, come on. He wasn’t really suffocating. He’s almost 7; it’s time he learned about suffering a little for his art. Sheesh.)
But for a while there, it seemed as though all was well. I trailed behind the children with my camera, trying to get pictures in the dark as they ran away from me. The candy flowed freely, and so did the giggles. They compared with each other and their friends and were having a grand time.
It was after about eight or so houses that Monkey’s complaints began to intensify. I recalled that he’d risen this morning, just as chipper as could be, at five. FIVE. I’d sent him back to bed, but chances were excellent that he was hitting the wall. I tried to cajole him along, but he lagged behind the others.
When I offered to take him home, he said he thought that was a good idea. Uh oh.
He begged to take off his costume, so I relented. I offered him my wig, so that he’d still be dressed up. (I really think it looked a lot better on him than me, anyway.) In his new getup he visited two more houses, then insisted that he was done.
I left Chickadee with friends and let Monkey climb onto my back, and trotted through the dark back to our house. Once inside, I started putting things away and sent him upstairs to brush his teeth. I found him there a minute later, crying that he was too tired to change into his jammies.
Poor little tired-out Monkey.
I helped him get ready for bed and tucked him in and went downstairs in time to greet Chickadee and our friends, and by the time our good-byes were exchanged, Monkey was wailing for me from his room.
His ears hurt, he sniffled between sobs. I administered motrin and felt his forehead (perfectly cool) and remembered that he’s off his antihistamines until his (rescheduled) allergist appointment—which makes for a pretty stuffy head—and managed to get Chickadee through the bedtime stuff while soothing him.
I thought I had both kids settled when he started up, crying again. So I went back into his room and gathered him up and we sat in the rocker until he began to snore against my shoulder. It wasn’t terribly comfortable, with him being all elbows and knees yet trying to fold himself into my lap, but it was still the highlight of my day.
You never want your kids to be sick or unhappy. But being able to make it better is a very lovely feeling, indeed.
Especially when you can follow it up with pilfered candy.