It’s the Great Flu Bug, Charlie Brown

 

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So, it’s Halloween today. World’s most divided holiday. (Well, Columbus Day is moving up in the polls on this, so perhaps Halloween will lose its ranking soon).

We celebrate Halloween, yes. Our rules are simple:

1.No creepy.

2. No scary.

3. No plastic knives with fake blood (see #1 and #2)

4. And all Reeses’ are subject to quality control sampling.

Anyhoo – we were all in the works for Halloween. So far this month we have had two birthdays, and something called Hyllingsfest which involves dancing and Swedish meatballs and Lord have mercy there were my boys in tights singing “Children of Our Heavenly Father” in SWEDISH and it was PREASHUSS.

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CAN YOU EVEN? I MEAN HOLY SWEDISH POM POMS. Also: note the ears. They hold up the hat. Of course. Such great little preshus earsie wearsies.

Also there’s THIS:

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It appears in this picture my cute little kid has had just a bit too much of Swedishness and has had to take so many pictures that he just snarls now. BUT IT’S STILL CUTE. IT IS.

Halloween also has the capacity for preshus. I give you, exhibit A:

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And then… Wait for it….

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The TAIL. I don’t even know how to use my words here. Which is kinda rare.

This Halloween, both boys wanted to be All Star Wars, All the Time. I was so proud. And then, that’s when I kind of detached myself from my reality, and said these fated words:

“Oh no, Blonde. Let me make you a Kylo Ren costume. I’m SURE IT WILL BE EASY.”

Yep yep yep. I said that. It’s about as scary and stupid as the girl who asks, “Is anybody there?” in the scary Halloween movie, right before she gets the big bloody heave-ho.

Do you know, that making a HOOD is not really all that easy? Like, if you don’t make it RIGHT, your kid starts to look sorta… like he’s part of the clan?

And I don’t mean caveman clans, people. My costume really really was taking a turn to the fascist, and that’s… well.. no. Just, NO.

So… then this happened:

“Mom? My head hurts. And my stomach. Also, my throat. And my arms. My arms are twitchy.”

Yes. Yes, twitchy arms are evidently also a symptom of MY KID HAS THE FLU RIGHT BEFORE HALLOWEEN.

I know. This is so scary. Basically it’s like the girl just asked, “Is anybody there?” And THEN she PROCEEDED TO WALK UP THE CREEPY STAIRS. (Why do we go for heights, people, when we are scared? Why? Has not anyone ever considered just turning your butt around and walking right out the door? Oh no. You have to saunter up the STAIRS because up THERE you will be safe and sound and not end up with body parts all over. Suggestion: There’s a Quick Trip down the street – get out, go get a cherry slushy and survive.)

But, I digress.

The kid was sick. Sickety-sick. This all happened on Friday and, as you know, moms never can live for longer than ten seconds without projecting something and then planning the heck out of the ahead, so I started devising.

And it went like this:

  1. My child is sick. And he might still be so on Halloween.
  2. Clearly the most logical thing is to convince the neighborhood to just have Halloween on Wednesday.

Totally should work, right?

When I presented my plan to the husband, I was met with a teensy bit of opposition. It went like this:

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

I responded gently, like this: “THIS IS OUR CHILD. THE FRUIT OF OUR LOINS. HAVE YOU NO SOUL.”

Red: “What are Loinds?”

Anyhow, the hubster, who has so very often found himself in this predicament before, JUST KEPT TALKING:

“Why don’t you just dress him up in his Grim Reaper costume and-”

“Excuse me? What? What did you say?”

“Um… just dress him up. He can answer the door?”

“In his WHAT costume?”

“Um… the Grim Reaper? The one who does the Reaping? No? No reaping? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Why in the world would you think I would dress my son up as Death? Have you really REALLY no soul? This post is really writing you in a dark light, dude.”

“Okkkkaaay. He’s not the Grim Reaper. So, he’s Hooded Bathrobe Guy?”

The rest of the conversation is not acceptable for our ears BECAUSE WE HAVE SOULS AND MY HUSBAND DOES NOT.

I would like to add that Blonde is all better. I didn’t have to reconfigure the time-space continuum for my neighborhood, so that’s good. My husband and I have worked through our issues and he has adamantly stated that this is the best Kylo costume in the galaxy. He’s a good man.

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Let’s Grade Halloween on a Curve

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It’s best to remember here that most of the time, we live in la-la land.

What I mean is, we are always expecting things to go a certain way. And by “we” I think it’s best to just get it out of the way and say, “me.”

Like, I expect to go to the store. Simple enough. It should go like this:

1. Get money.

2. Go to store.

3. Buy stuff.

4. Come home.

 

But INSTEAD, this is what occurs:

1. Money not available because lost wallet.

2. Lost wallet because children. Children move things. However, when “helping look” they move one pillow. One.

3. Um, yelling.

4. Eat popcorn and pickles for lunch because no other food here.

5. Children thrilled. Back to moving all things in the house to wrong places.

6.  Lots of muttering and looking under things for the rest of the afternoon.

7. Wallet found under cat. Must check later if he went online shopping with my Visa again.

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Googling: “World dominashun”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I would like to state for the record that I had the best of intentions with Red’s costume. After much deliberation on his part he final decision for this year was a spider. A SUPER spider. I accepted without hesitation because for two weeks I had to field possibilities such as:

The human heart. With da bentricles!

Maybe a Batman guy? but a BAD one? (Possible, if you counted the costume as poorly made. That’s do-able.)

T-REX EATING SUMTHIN!!! LOTSA BLOOD!

 

We then had to go over this yearly gem of a tedious and horrible rule at our house:  We don’t do spooky. We are unspooky Halloweeners. Life is spooky enough without us putting some fake blood and a machete in the hands of a six year old. We just don’t go there.

This, of course, always merits a fun game of

SPOOKY? NOT SPOOKY?

Wee innocent babies: Der zombies? Spooky?

Momsie: Spooky.

Wee ones: Frankenswine!

Momsie: Spooky! but that’s cute!

Mummies?

Spooky.

Da werenwolves?

Spooky.

Dose things on TV? All the time?

Political candidates?

Yep!

SPOOKY.

 

You get the idea. Once Red finally offered his spider idea, and then followed it up with a full five minute description as how “da spiders? Dey are our FRIENDS! Eating insects, spinning all those webs, dey hardly ever, EVER come outta nowhere and attack, suck the blood right outta you and KILL you!” Very convincing argument.

But then I realized – spiders have, like, a bunch of legs and stuff.  I realized I was once again perilously close to the land of Overzealous Mom Fail. This is a scary place that I tend to visit at least once a month or so, usually around the time of the school fun fair (“Sure! I’ll decorate a cake for the cake walk! No problem!) or for a Mom’s Day Out (“I would LOVE to make four pans of something casseroley and delicious and not at all gluey or seasoned with despair and lack of confidence!”)

The Land of Overzealous Mom Failures is littered with sad Halloween costumes from those of us who know how to use a needle and thread, we just don’t really know how to use them effectively.  And we like shortcuts.

So I have a spider now, with duct-taped legs that thwack limply against my poor son’s “spider adobem” and even the fangs I drew on him are lopsided. If this spider could talk, he would lisp. But who’s to say, spiders don’t lisp? Maybe they do. Or some do. Poor things.  Maybe… I’m the spider whisperer for all spiders with speech impediments. Yea me!

 

 

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*No spiders were harmed in the making of this post. In fact, I would like to go one step further and suggest that I am now the protector of all spiders who are “special.” And my spider is adorable. AND VERY DARN SPECIAL!

** Couldn’t tell you why Blonde wanted one leg up, one down on his alien costume. It’s one of his pieces of flare, I guess.

 

Happy Belated Halloween, ya’ll.

I will make homemade Halloween costumes until they rip the glittered rik-rak and googley eyes out of my cold, tired hands.