I guess I should join the rest of the moms and talk about Halloween. Unfortunately mine started the night before Halloween when I couldn’t find the witch’s hat for Evan’s costume, which means he believed he was a bat, a monster, a black knight. Ok, whatever. After my husband finally made it home, we loaded the kids in the car and went the city Halloween celebration, which was packed because we got there so late. For some reason it felt like begging for candy and made my husband and I feel kind of weird. Maybe it was all the kids with half-assed costumes (but that could have been valid reasons, right?), or maybe it was the fact that the lines became one giant line shuffling from store to store for one little piece of candy. Any ways we left after an hour as Evan munched on candy.
He proceeded to munch on candy at home, asking one parent and then the other. (Note: Must always ask the other parent if the child is asking for something.) Then he told me he hid his candy when I told him no more. It turns out he hid it in his mouth while he was hiding from me. I found Starburst wrappers under the computer desk the next day.
Then about 9:30 Evan started crying from his bed, and I ran up to chase away any monsters to find that he threw up. Stupid candy. Stupid husband who had to run an errand. As I rushed around the room trying to figure out what to do first – clean the kid up, clean the sheets, shut the door, find the sheets – I silently cursed my husband. Ok, grab towels and run the hot water for wash clothes. Shut the door to keep Sean from waking up. Dump the kid onto a towel on the floor. Strip the child. Murmur reassurances, and run to the bathroom to soak the washcloths in the now warm water. Wipe down the child with more murmuring of reassurances, and quickly find any shirt (ANY SHIRT) to put the child in. Put the child in the only other safe bed that he’ll stay in, mom’s and dad’s. Then as you strip the bed you hear the garage door opening, and thank God he’s home. Of course, the bed’s stripped and half made by the time the husband’s upstairs. And being the kind hearted mother and wife, you have the husband soothe the child as you rinse the vomit out of the sheets in the kitchen and dump them on heavy load in the wash. All the while, I have the following paragraph running in my head:
“Paloma, Patrick is throwing up!” I would tell her, and she would literally run to his room, clean the sheets, change his pajamas, spread a clean towel on his pillow, feed him ice chips, sing to him. I would stand in the doorway, concerned, making faces at Patrick to cheer him up – the way my father did when I was sick and my mother was taking care of me. – Caitlin Flanagan, The Hell with All That: Loving and Loathing your Inner Housewife
Now you know why I hate her book so much.
Well, the night progressed with me coming to bed two hours later and catching Evan’s vomit in a bowl I had ready. No, I didn’t want him to sleep in our bed because I didn’t want vomit in my hair. But the pleas coming from both male occupants of the bed and the lucky catch made me agree. And I was able to catch the vomit several more times and administer Motrin for the fever that ensued.
So no ghost pancakes for Halloween, only ghost toast. Sean enjoyed the roll up sandwiches to look like a back bone. (Ok, I didn’t have my Halloween party; I need this.) Evan instructed from the couch how I should cut the pumpkin as I wondered how I was going to get another witch’s hat. As I put the boys to nap, missing my blog reading, as I talked on the phone to my old roommate and my best friend, I made brownies to shape into coffins, replaced the falling stars on the robe, and cleaned the living room and dining room up so trick-or-treating parents didn’t believe we lived in squalor. When my husband came home to admit he forgot the hat and to assume child watching duties, I made broomstick breadsticks and a pizza with a cheese cobweb on it. Did I ever mention I love Halloween?
We trick-or-treated early with Evan waving around a glow stick like a light saber. Poor Evan was done after half a dozen houses, but Sean wanted to visit every house, so I had to hold him back. I insisted on visiting our teenage babysitter’s house that’s two doors down. (Yes, we are lucky, but she’s also young and extremely busy.) There Evan gave every one the battery-operated tea lights that were decorating the house, insisting they will keep away monsters. The mom was so thrilled by the idea of giving away the decorations she didn’t need and how cute Evan was, we ended up with a dozen of our own. Yes, I find the lights cute. With the safety of home, Evan stripped out of his costume and crashed on the couch. But both boys had to greet every trick-or-treater, or “Halloween friends” as Evan called them, when ever the door bell rang.
At the end of the night, after the boys went to bed, the trick-or-treaters became teenagers. Now I subscribe to my mother’s theory: better trick-or-treating than causing trouble. So I loaded these teenagers up with candy. Besides I had tons, and I am a recovering sugar addict. Then when I went to bring in our jack-o-lantern so I could carve it up for breads, I noticed it was gone. Those stupid teenagers! Back in my day we had honor and would never steal decorations from a house who gave us candy, especially if it was loads of candy. My husband didn’t understand why they would take it. Oh, pumpkin smashing fun.
Oh, and yes, Evan is still sick, throwing up dinner from last night (he insisted on pizza, and yes, I’m an idiot for letting him eat it) and breakfast of peanut butter sandwiches (ok, I’m a slow learner). It just better not be the flu.