With the holidays upon us, it seems that every other day the kids are out of school for one reason or another. I've decided to create my own holiday for which my daughter will not attend school. What day am I celebrating hiding from?
School Picture Day.
Zoey is very beautiful despite the fact that she looks like a mini-me with long hair. I realize I'm going to have my hands very full when she is older, discouraging potential suitors with passive-aggressive stares (or sticks, knives, guns, and anything else handy). I have taken some amazing photographs of her. In some she looks – dare I say – angelic?
But the school photos? That's a different story.
I don't know what the problem is. I don't know if she has some kind of performance anxiety issue that causes her to spaz out when the photographer tells her to smile. Or maybe the photographer is simply apathetic after seeing one freshly scrubbed face after another. I would imagine it would be quite stressful trying to get fifty or sixty toddlers to sit still, let alone put them in anything resembling a half-decent pose. Whatever the case, something ain't working.
Last year, her school picture was truly a sight to see. She had her head tilted at a 45° angle, her tongue sticking out slightly, and her hand on her stomach. No smile. The hell? All that was missing was some drool coming out of the corner of her mouth! She looked like a dog that just heard a high-pitched noise.
We still bought plenty of pictures.
Towards the end of the school year, she was to have a class photo taken. Desperate not to have a repeat performance of her earlier photograph, we practiced smiling for the camera the week preceding the event. I would say, "Cheese!" and she would flash the most beautiful smile you'll ever lay your eyes on. We were so ready.
Or so I thought.
When she got home that day from preschool, I asked her how she smiled for the camera. She responded by sticking her tongue out at me. I asked her, "Did you smile?" "No," she replied. "What did you do?" Once again, she stuck her tongue out at me. I wanted to believe she was just messing with me, but deep down I knew the truth. See why I call her my Punk Rock Princess?
We got the pictures back. There were two rows of kids, one row sitting on the floor and one row sitting in chairs behind them. There was my daughter, smack dab in the middle of the seated row, sticking out her tongue. And as an added bonus, she was wearing a dress that day, which was hiked almost up to her chin. So she was sitting there spread-eagle, flashing the world. Luckily, we put her in hose that day.
I apologized to all the moms in her class for my daughter single-handedly ruining the class photo. That is, after I got up the nerve to look them in the eye again.
We still bought plenty of pictures.
On Monday, she came home with this year's pictures. I was afraid to open them. Would she be sticking out her tongue? Were her eyes closed? Was fingerpaint covering her face? I slowly opened up the package.
There in front of me was my Zoey's award-winning smile. She was beaming so brightly her dimples were showing. Her hair was in place.
Then I scanned down.
She was slouched over with her arms held tightly to her sides. So tightly, in fact, that it made her appear like she had breasts. And a pot belly. It looked like she was wearing a push-up bra and some sort of belly-enhancing device. But at least she was smiling. And her tongue was in her mouth! Baby steps, my friend. Baby steps.
We'll still buy plenty of pictures.
GHS: 3
Every Picture Tells A Story (But Some Tales Are Better Left Untold)
Narcikidstic Sites
Well, it's taken me well over a month, but I finally got around to posting a list of parenting sites I enjoy. Sure, I could've just called them Links or Stuff I Dig or something equally as lame, but I decided to invent a word.
I have serious problems.
Narcikidstic is not meant to be derogatory, by the way.
And for those of you who care about such things, this was my fiftieth post. It took me fifty posts to put up a links list. Kind of sad, no?
The Obligatory Mushy Thanksgiving Post
First of all, thanks to everyone for the kind comments and emails regarding my family's recent illnesses. Everyone is fine now. Well, almost everyone...
I'm sick. Zoey decided to pass what she had onto her dear old Dad.
As a result, I'm not enjoying Thanksgiving too much. I'm here by myself (we normally go to Ella's folks' house for Thanksgiving; I had to practically kick her out the door (there's no sense in the three of them missing Thanksgiving dinner because I'm sick)), watching football and enjoying the BRAT diet (which, sadly, does not stand for Bacon, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Alcohol, and Turkey).
Now that I've gotten that out of the way, I'd like to thank you for coming here and reading my site. With all the sites out there that talk about kids, it's amazing you ended up here. I could open up my Bloglines subscriptions and easily direct you to ten sites that are funnier, better written, or more insightful (and that's before I get to the letter C). In fact—what are you still doing here? Go to DadCentric instead.
I'd also like to thank anyone who's taken the time to comment or send an email over anything I've written.
I'd like to thank everyone who's ever linked to my site and foolishly sent people my way. Especially Susan from Friday Playdate and Brian at Rebel Dad.
More Things I'm Thankful For
I'm thankful I have such a beautiful, caring, and loving wife.I'm thankful I have two healthy, beautiful, funny, and insane (but in the good way) kids.
I'm thankful I have the opportunity to stay at home with them.
I'm thankful Nick & Jessica have officially called it quits so the media vultures can get back to what's important: digging up further proof that Tom Cruise has gone insane.
I'm thankful non-holiday and non-Super Bowl NFL games do not have halftime entertainment. All I Wanna Do... is watch football.
Finally, I'm most thankful for the fact that no matter how sick my family was this week, I didn't have to deal with anything like this. You're a trooper, Jeff.
Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!
GHS: 0
This One Has Nothing To Do With Breastfeeding (Unlike The Last Two)
Life has been so much fun around here lately, I just had to share it with you guys.
Zed has been e-x-t-r-e-m-e-l-y cranky lately. In the past ten days, he has had five teeth come through his gums. Five teeth. In ten days.
Do I
- call Guinness World Records?
- drink a case of Guinness?
- start dipping Zed's pacifier in Guinness?
Yesterday, Ella awoke with a major sinus infection. So I had the kids all day while she slept (when she gets headaches, the only thing that helps is sleep (or at least that's what she tells me)). Normally, that wouldn't be such a big deal. But we had two birthday parties to attend yesterday.
The first one was at Pump-It-Up, the 384th party we've attended there since mid-June. Zoey had lots of fun bouncing around as usual. I even managed to go down the slides with her a few times while a few of the moms watched Zed. Zed was quite pleasant, considering what he's been going through.
After a quick nap (unfortunately, I'm talking about Zoey, not me), we went to the second party at The Little Gym. Zoey has taken classes there, but has never attended a birthday party there. They do a really nice job with their birthday parties (but I suppose that depends on how much your attendant likes kids).
Later that evening, we were all sitting around watching
So I got the thermometer. 102.9°. Believe it or not, I didn't panic.
Since she's been about nine months old, Zoey is prone to running high fevers. When she has a fever, she has a fever. None of this wimpy 100.3° stuff for my girl. The first few times we took her to the emergency room (the highest it ever got was 104.9°; we were really scared that night). Not anymore. Tylenol, then Motrin. Repeat as necessary.
She still has the fever today, but it's slightly lower than it was yesterday. But she's added a new twist: Diarrhea! And it's the lovely kind of diarrhea that she doesn't know is coming, so she ends up not making it to the bathroom in time. Fun times, indeed.
So, in recap, I have a sick daughter, a sick wife, and a son who's trying to get all his baby teeth at once. Anyone want to trade places?
Update: Zoey had diarrhea in the middle of the night last night. Of course, she didn't want to go back to bed, so Ella and I, being
Quick question for everyone: in this day and age, when we can make jukeboxes the size of credit cards, why can't they make medicine that doesn't taste like medicine? I'm tired of chasing my daughter around the house, threatening, bribing, and begging her to take her "cherry-flavored" medicine. Would Chocolate Milkshake Tylenol be so hard to create?
GHS: 7 (3 for the diarrhea, 4 for the puking in bed)
The New Clubhouse
Note: This originally appeared on DadCentric on November 14, 2005.
When you first buy a house, you and your wife have plenty of room. You might have an office, a guest bedroom, and, if you're really lucky, a room of your own. This is the place where you keep all your tacky bachelor furniture (your wife's words, not yours), a small television set, a PlayStation, and your sports memorabilia. Add a kid to the mix, and now you have an office/guest bedroom. Add another kid, and the contents of your room are sitting by the curb, awaiting the Salvation Army truck.
Unless you have a garage.
Here in Suburbia (or at least in my little corner), guys have begun setting up shop in their garages. Everyone in my neighborhood has at least a television and a refrigerator full of beer in their garage. True, cars are still parked in most of the garages, but they can easily be moved for an impromptu poker game or Monday Night Football. Some guys have gone the extra mile and put pool tables and foosball tables in their garages. Legend has it that in a nearby subdivision, there is a garage that contains a bar, a high-definition television, a satellite receiver, and a poker table. It is a stripper pole away from being a really nice underground gentlemen's club.
When we were boys, we had clubhouses. Now we have garages.
I bet you're wondering how I've tricked out my garage. Sadly, my wife and I are both packrats. Our garage contains mountains of boxes full of stuff we couldn't live without that has just been sitting there for two years now. No TV. No fridge. And no cars, either.
But one day...
I've Been Waiting For Something Like This To Happen (A Conversation About Boobs)
Note: Please ignore the sappy crap at the beginning. I come off like a real dork.
I was changing Zed. Zoey was acting like a baby bird.
"Peep. Peep."
"Hello, baby bird!"
"Peep. Peep."
"We'll call you Peep Peep. And we'll call Zed Poop Poop because all he ever does it poop!"
"I'll call you goo-shay (I have no idea what word she was trying to say).
"Why?"
"Because you have a big belly!" She giggles.
"Daddy has a big belly?"
"No!" Still giggling.
"Who has a big belly?"
"Mommy!"
"Mommy has a big belly?"
"Yes!"
"Why does Mommy have a big belly?"
"(While grabbing her chest) Because she has big these things! And you can drink milk out of them!"
GHS: 0
The Teeth, The Teat, And The Games We Create To Prevent Tantrums
The Teeth
After months of drooling that would make a Saint Bernard jealous, weeks of general crankiness, and a weekend of pure hell, two of Zed's teeth finally poked through his gums. Hamburgers for everyone!Zed made me write about this. He was complaining the other day that he doesn't get enough ink on this site.
The Teat
Last night, Ella and I went into Zoey's room to check on her before going to bed. Zoey was wearing a nightgown, but she had pulled her arms through the sleeves, so it looked like she was wearing a strapless dress. Underneath her dress was her baby doll. It looked like she had fallen asleep breastfeeding her baby.Ella made me write about this. She laughed hysterically for about five minutes straight after finding Zoey in that position. Of course, it was nearly midnight, so she was punchy, and nearly anything would've made her laugh hysterically.
The Games We Create To Prevent Tantrums
Ella and I are extremely absent-minded, especially when it comes to paying bills on time. When the lights go out in normal people's homes, they ask, "What happened?" We ask, "Did you pay the bill?"This morning while Zoey and I were eating breakfast, I remembered that her preschool tuition was due today. They don't send a bill. You're supposed to remember that it's due by the 15th each month. Yeah, right. Unfortunately, she did not have school today. I knew that if we went to her school and immediately left, I would be faced with a meltdown of epic proportions.
It was time to get creative.
I told her we were going to pretend to be secret agents (thank you, Backyardigans!). Our mission? To take an envelope to the preschool director's office without being seen by anyone! We made a map and hatched a plan of attack (I did stop short of dressing us in black from head to toe).
Cue the theme from Mission: Impossible:
When we got to the preschool, we ran up the sidewalk (Zed was in his stroller, probably wondering what was going on. Daddy can run?). We got to the door and peered inside. Zoey looked around and said, "Come on." She began tiptoeing, which is really something to see (it's extremely exaggerated; she just about brings her knees to her chin). When we got to the hallway, she peeked around the corner, turned around, and motioned for me to follow her. It was hard to tell who was having more fun: Zoey, pretending to be a secret agent, or me, watching Zoey pretending to be a secret agent.
We placed the envelope on the director's desk. Mission accomplished! As we turned to leave, one of Zoey's teachers came down the hall.
BUSTED!
Zoey screamed, "Oh no! It's Miss Jones!" and took off running. I wanted to tell Miss Jones what was going on, but I had an AWOL agent on my hands. I'll let her know tomorrow when I drop Zoey off at school.
Zoey made me write about this. She had so much fun she wanted to share it with you.
GHS: 2 (due to the weekend of pure hell)
To Thine Own Self Be True
Note: This originally appeared on DadCentric on November 11, 2005.
When my wife and I first started talking about having children, there was one thing I swore I'd never do: purchase a minivan. At the time, my wife agreed with me. But lately, she's had a change of heart.
We'll be driving down the road and my daughter will spill something on herself. "Do you know how much easier life would be with a minivan? I could just walk back there if one of the kids needed something." Or I'll hear something like this: "What if we're driving on the Interstate and one of them starts choking? What would we do?" Pull over, of course. Duh! SUVs have brakes, you know.
She's not the only one who is pushing for us to get a minivan. My daughter's preschool teachers have been passively requesting we buy one as well. They haven't resorted to putting brochures in her backpack or anything, but when they bring my daughter to the car, they'll say things like, "It's time to climb that big mountain again!" or "Can you make it? It sure is high!" Bite me.
Punk Chag has told me time and time again, "Dude, if you let them talk you into buying a minivan, it's over between us. You might as well drive a stake through my heart. There's no way I can be seen in one of those." I agree.
Look, I don't ask for much. Please don't make me get a minivan. Please don't let them kill Punk Chag!
Given The Choice, I'd Take Folgers Crystals Over Linda Blair Any Day Of The Week
Today, I had a meeting at Chili's with a new client (Chili's is the new golf course). As per my usual modus operandi, I dropped Zoey off at her Granny's house. Zed and I went to the meeting hoping things would turn out better than the meeting with one of my previous clients.
Mr. Jones arrived at Chili's at 1:00 PM. We talked about my kids, his kids, football, the weather, and all that getting-to-know-you crap before we got down to business. He opened the meeting with the following words:
"I'd like a lot of bells and whistles on my site."
A little part of me dies every time I hear those words. See, I know this is businessmanspeak for tacky. I let them tell me what they want and then I tell them what they should want. I usually spend the next ten to fifteen minutes trying to deprogram my client, often citing Amazon, Google, or Yahoo as examples of good business practices, usability, and design. Most of the time it doesn't work. Since the customer's always right, I create a web site based on my client's specifications (I do all the backend stuff (get your mind out of the gutter!) and have a designer create all my graphics), cash the check, and go about my merry way. Then three months later, I redesign the web site after the client has realized no one wants to use the site because it's so gaudy. I get paid twice. If only they would listen to me.
"What would you like on your site?" I nervously asked.
"When someone clicks on a button, I want you to hear a little click noise." A click noise? Dude, the only noise you want your web site to make is cha-ching (Get it? Like a cash register? God, I crack myself up sometimes.).
It was at this point Zed threw his pacifier on the floor and began crying. I felt like joining him. I gave him a toy while I picked up his pacifier. He immediately threw the toy on the floor as well. T-minus ninety seconds and counting until we have a full-blown tantrum!
"Anything else?"
"I want a lot of spinning graphics." This was when I realized this man hadn't seen a web site since 1997. Zed's cries became noticeably LOUDER. T-minus forty-five seconds...
"Ok. Anything else?"
"My son says I need a blog on my site."
The hell? Dude, you're selling mufflers! What are you going to write about? Today I changed 23 mufflers. Yesterday I changed 29 mufflers. While you're at it, MABee u caN wrITE YoUr sTuFF LYK dis! That woOD B Soooo KEWL!
Two quick questions:
- Who would want to read a blog about mufflers? I can't get people to read this blog. And my kids do funny things!
- Who takes business advice from their fourteen-year-old son? This moron must get his stock tips from the pizza delivery guy.
So I sat him on my lap. He continued screaming, only now he had a new array of things to throw on the floor. He grabbed my fork. Floor! He grabbed my spoon. Floor! He reached for my plate, but I stopped him before it could join the fork and spoon. He began screaming even louder (you might have actually heard him yourself) because now he was mad at me as well.
At this point, I would not have been surprised if his head had started spinning around while pea soup spewed forth from his mouth. It was that bad. It was beginning to feel like those old Folgers Crystals commercials: "We've secretly replaced Chag's son Zed with a demon baby. Let's see if he notices." Actually, I wish they had replaced him with a bag of Folgers Crystals. Coffee doesn't cry.
I don't remember much from the rest of the meeting. I seem to recall something about a talking muffler mascot named Muffly. Whatever floats your boat.
But hey, at least Zoey wasn't along for the ride. She would have only contributed to the chaotic atmosphere by jumping up and down in the booth like a chimpanzee in heat.
GHS: 10
Now If We Only Had A Tabletop Tennis Game
At the Cynical Dad household, we like to play what I call "tabletop games." They're convenient because I can easily play with Zoey and hold Zed at the same time, which is quite often a necessity. He's teething (after eight months of no teeth, I believe he's trying to get twelve in at once), so he is often cranky and wants to be held. Here are the tabletop games currently in rotation:
Play-Doh
I've already chronicled Zoey creating blood sandwiches. But we make normal food as well: tacos, pizza, burgers, and lots and lots of toast. Am I raising a child that is going to have food issues later in life? Or am I just overanalyzing things as usual? Or maybe I just need to buy her some new Play-Doh play sets?The only problem I have with the Play-Doh is that she mixes the colors (I bet you thought I was going to complain about the mess). I know. You don't have to say a word. I'm just too anal-retentive to sit idly by and watch her mix the colors. But comments like "If you do that, you won't have any more pretty pink Play-Doh" often fall on deaf ears. Which is why we have tons of rust/brown-colored Play-Doh. Need some?
Candy Land
We've been "playing" this game since she turned three years old. It can be a painful experience. She's usually only good for about two turns before she declares herself the winner. She's more interested in stacking the cards over and over again (OCD alert!) and having the little gingerbread guys talk to one another than she is playing the game.But today we had a major breakthrough. Today we made it all the way to the Gramma Nutt area before she declared herself the winner (I did stack the deck in her favor with doubles). I know, we barely made it halfway through the board, but I'm optimistic nonetheless. Baby steps, my friend. Baby steps.
Jigsaw Puzzles
We've moved past the Melissa & Doug phase (although she still pulls them out from time to time) and are now doing jigsaw puzzles. She's really quite good at them, although at times she gets a little impatient and tries to make a piece fit.I enjoy it as well. In fact, when I'm cleaning up the room at the end of the day, I often put the puzzle together by myself before putting it away. It's strangely therapeutic. It's like yoga, only not as healthy.
The only problem with the puzzles is that apparently we have some sort of mystery vortex in our living room that sucks up a few pieces when we're not looking. And so we end up putting together puzzles with pieces missing. And then I have to go take my meds.
GHS: 3 (2 for the Play-Doh mixing and 1 for the missing puzzle pieces)
80s Movie Night At The Cynical Dad Household
Bachelor Party
This weekend, I am a bachelor. Ella is taking the kids to see her folks. So what kind of debauchery do I have lined up? Strip clubs? Who am I kidding? Football and beer is about as crazy as I get these days. And unfortunately, I won't be partaking of any of that, either. I'll be handcuffed to my computer, writing code all weekend. Fun stuff!Porky's
Zoey has started to wear nightgowns occasionally. And while she looks adorable in them, I don't like them too much because they make her look older and I don't want her to grow up. Ever! Anyway, when she wears these nightgowns, she has a tendency to pull the collar down to her waist, baring her chest, as she wiggles her hips. I know she just does this because she knows it bugs me. Or perhaps she's merely practicing for her appearance on an upcoming edition of Girls Gone Wild. Kill me. Now.Heathers
Zoey went to her eighty-third Pump It Up party since mid-June on Tuesday evening. I kind of enjoy going to these things because that's where I find out what my daughter's been up to at school. Her teachers don't tell me anything. At the last party we attended, I found out she's in a gang. Well, at this party, I found out that their little gang is kind of like the trio in Heathers. They decide who gets to play with them outside. No one goes into their beloved sandbox without their approval. There are also girls in the class they like (or at least, can stomach) and those they don't like. How can you not like someone when you're three years old? What's wrong with her?My daughter's a Heather. My daughter's a bully. We need to put a stop to this behavior. Fast.
Family Business
So... what do you guys think of DadCentric so far? Just curious. Give me the good, the bad, and the ugly. You can leave a comment or email me. I'm really anxious to know what you guys think.GHS: 16 (10 for Zoey's upcoming appearance on Girls Gone Wild and 6 for Zoey's Heatherslike traits)
No Dads Allowed! This Means YOU!
Note: This originally appeared on DadCentric on November 3, 2005.
Yesterday, I received a comment from Mr. SAH'D. Seems he took his son to a playground and it was packed with other children and their mothers. He began talking to one of the mothers and found out it was a playgroup for stay-at-home moms. When he inquired about becoming a member, he was told, "Next time [the playgroup] meets, we could vote to allow you in."
The hell? It's 2005, people!
I've met a lot of cool moms at the playground. We talk about the kids, the weather, different amusements in the area, blah, blah, blah. You know, friendly small talk.
I've also seen a lot of stuffy Buffys and Muffys, the kind of moms who are only at the park to socialize, sitting in their lawn chairs, sipping their Starbucks, all dolled up like they're headed to the Debutante Ball, while their kids are dangling from their toes at the top of the monkey bars or buried headfirst in six feet of sand. I'm assuming these are the types of moms Mr. SAH'D met.
I wonder how his application process will go....
President: Ladies, the Committee for Urban Newborn and Toddler Socialites (play the acronym game) is now in session. The first order of business is to rule on allowing fathers into the playgroup. Does anyone have anything they'd like to say on the matter?
Muffy #1: My husband would kill me if he found out I was talking to a man.
Buffy #1: If we let fathers into our playgroup, what's next? Different races? Different religious backgrounds? What will become of our moral fiber?
Muffy #2: There is no way I'm taking my kids up to the park and have some guy undress me with his eyes!
President: I think we've heard enough. Let's put it to a vote. All those in favor of allowing fathers into our playgroup, say aye.
[crickets chirping]
President: All those opposed, say nay.
Everyone: NAY!
President: The nays have it. No dads allowed.
Mr. SAH'D, I hope you start showing up with your child when the playgroup meets. Your kid could still play with the other children. The other children won't care if your kid came to the park with his daddy (gasp!). Just make sure you bring your iPod, because I doubt you'll be having any conversations with these women. Not that you'd want to anyway.
What do you think he should do?
DadCentric: Not Your Mother's Daddy Blog
On Halloween, while most of you were readying your kids for the evening's festivities, some of the web's best daddy bloggers (Cheeky's Hideaway, Chocolate Makes It Better, Confessions Of A Novice Surfer, Mr. Big Dubya, MetroDad (one of the hippest and funniest dads out there), Pet Cobra, and Rude Cactus) banded together and launched the mother of all fatherhood sites: DadCentric.
Check it out. They've also got some other putz writing for them, but I'm not that familiar with his work.
And by the way, after this post, I promise not to use the word blog (Ugh! It makes my brain bleed!) or daddy ever again.
It's The Great Halloween Recap, Charlie Brown
This year, Halloween was a little less hectic for us. Normally, we have four Halloween-related activities to attend, but this year we only had two. So why do I feel so exhausted?
There's a guy on a nearby street that used to show movies in his garage two weeks before Halloween. He would show a kid's movie followed by a horror movie (Halloween, etc.) for the adults. Everyone brought the kids, lawn chairs, and their favorite alcoholic beverages. Unfortunately, he moved away this spring.
A friend of ours usually has a pumpkin-carving party. The kids play together and try to stuff as much chocolate as they can into their tiny bodies before they pass out, throw up, or time's up. The adults carve pumpkins. And drink. But she didn't have her party this year. Her three-year-old has been having difficulties adjusting to life with a little sister. Or perhaps we just weren't invited because I caused such a scene last year.
We did go to the Pumpkin Pie Contest on Saturday night. Basically, about thirty families in the neighborhood get together, block off the street, and the kids have a Halloween Parade. Everyone brings an appetizer, a dessert, and their best pumpkin pie. And, oh yeah, alcoholic beverages. Because nothing proves you're a caring parent like a cooler full of Capri Sun and Miller High Life.
Actually, it seems like we have a lot of holiday celebrations in this neighborhood that revolve around drinking. We drink at our Christmas party. We drink at our New Year's Eve party. And let's not even discuss St. Patrick's Day. Arbor Day? Let's drink and take a leak on a tree! Groundhog Day? If the groundhog sees his shadow, that's six more weeks of drinking! Hell, it's amazing someone hasn't thrown a Festivus party in the past just to get everyone together to drink.
Ok, I'm done babbling. How did our Halloween turn out? Glad you asked.
We had about four hundred pieces of candy: three bags of good candy (Reese's, M&M's, etc.) and one bag of crap (Pixy Stix, Laffy Taffy, Sweet Tarts, etc.), which I could not understand why Ella bought. I made fun of her all evening for this: "Did you see the little boy when I gave him some Sweet Tarts? I saw a tear well up in his eye." It's a wonder she didn't stab me to death with the Pixy Stix.
The trick-or-treaters started showing up soon after 6:00 PM. We gave out candy while we finished dinner and got the kids dressed in their costumes. Zoey, as I previously mentioned, was a cheerleader. We had some problems with Zed's costume. It seems if you're a boy under two years of age, you can only be an insect, a vegetable, or a devil for Halloween. We didn't really care for any of the costumes we saw, so Ella made him a skeleton costume, which turned out amazing. If I wasn't so paranoid, I'd post a picture of him in his costume, but there are way too many weirdoes out there.
At 6:45 PM, we left the house to go trick-or-treating. I had to beat the kids back with a broom. "Sorry! We'll be back soon! We're going trick-or-treating! Don't egg our house, please!" Last year, Zoey was very timid and hid behind us most of the time. This year was a different story. She knew that all she had to do was march up to a house, say the three magic words, and soon a chocolate delight would be hers. We took her to about ten houses and only to houses where we knew the people. I haven't saved up enough money for my own personal x-ray machine.
We went back home and I gave out more candy while Ella fed Zed. After he was finished, we ventured out into the night. This time, instead of beating the trick-or-treaters back with a broom, I grabbed a handful of candy, threw it out into the yard, and yelled, "Have at it, scavengers!" while we quickly made our escape. We walked down to the cul-de-sac to meet some of our neighbors. The kids all played together while taking stock of one another's loot. The adults chatted and handed out candy to the trick-or-treaters.
And drank. Hot chocolate with Baileys.
GHS: 0
