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We just got back from trick-or-treating.  Covering a ton of ground, we came back loaded down with stupid amounts of candy and splendidly tired.  We doubled our loot with our own leftover treats, since we had a whole lot fewer ghouls and ghosts than I predicted in the supermarket when selecting our candy.  I’ve already bagged up seven quart sized bags, stowing them in the freezer, and that hardly left a dent!

Mikey had a couple super hero costumes to choose from since he likes to dress up periodically throughout the year, but he chose to wear his “swamp gator” costume from last year.  It fit perfectly, and it’s pretty cool.  There are these hands and feet that are giant and creepy.  Daddy duct taped the feet over Michael’s shoes and true to dad form, tucked the pant legs into the shoes and wrapped the silvery tape visibly around the ankles.  Okay, so it might have offered some reflective value, but seriously, I thought it looked kind of dorky.  Anyway, they still tripped him up repeatedly.  Swamp man’s hands were a bit disabled, too—making it hard to take the candy bestowed upon him at the neighbor’s houses.  Add to this the sweaty rubber mask, and it wasn’t long before he was shedding appendages left and right.  Shortly he was nothing but a kid in an olive-drab, alligator skin jumpsuit.  Not so impressive. 

I like to think that my child has a great personality, but get him in an unfamiliar setting and he clams up and comes off surly.  We had to remind him repeatedly to show a little enthusiasm. “ Don’t just stand at the door like the cat actually got your tongue—say “Trick-or –Treat, and for the love of god, say Thank-you!  Look them in the eye, don’t mutter it over your shoulder!”  He also didn’t really understand the concept of holding his bag open and letting the person handing out candy drop some in his bag—he’s busy with fingers in the bowl making his selection—bu,t thankfully, not greedily.  In his defense, some of the people set it up that way, standing there with the bowl of candy extended.  At a certain point he decided that he really loves Kit Kat bars.  There were people out sitting on their tailgate handing out treats.  I think they gave him a Snicker’s bar, and he candidly told them that he likes Kit Kats.  I laughed sheepishly, wrought with mortification, and they laughed at my embarrassment.  But low-and-behold, they found a Kit Kat in their stash and called him back to give it to him.  Ahh…parenting.

Pierce, however, was Mister Personality—aka Mr. Stein—Frankenstein.  Naturally at barely two years old he didn’t really get the concept of what he was doing, but he sure had a good time dancing and cavorting through the streets with fluidity never before witnessed from the clumsy green monster.  He kept up for quite a while but we brought the stroller just in case we needed to rescue him, and indeed we did after about an hour.  He was awake and ready to go the whole time, though. 

As we entered our home, he was fading fast with the glassy eyes and lolling head, but have no fear.  As soon as we set him on his feet, he was squealing and running through the house.  But, alas, they are bathed and in bed, while we eat our weight in “their” candy.  Tee…hee…