Halloween is now over and as is typical on November 1st of every year, I now want to kill my children. The upside to Halloween is that I get to make costumes. The downside is that my children get a shitload of candy that they then spend the next two weeks bitching and crying and whining for.
I shit you not, my kids wake from dead sleeps, eyes still shut and mumble about candy. Owen woke up this morning and stumbled out of bed and immediately asked me for some and when I refused, he threw a hellatious fit right there in his bedroom doorway.
Olivia crawled into my bed at 3 in the morning, woke me up and asked me for candy. I simply cannot believe it. Well, I can but I just don’t like it.
There was a Halloween party at the police station and Matthew insisted that we make an appearance because the girl he has a crush on was going. I wanted to go to the mall where it was well lit, warm and we could get a buttload of candy pretty quickly. So, we went to the mall and then to the police station but not after Dean and I made sure we didn’t have any outstanding warrants or anything. You just never know.
We had a good time. The actual act of trick or treating for me is like choosing some random neighborhood to be my runway and my children the models who wear my creations. My kids get candy and I get compliments so everyone is happy other than Dean, although he brags on me a great deal to strangers. This year, it was all about the camera phones with some people actually asking first if they could take the kids’s pictures and some of them actually posing the kids first. We get a lot of these: “Oh my gawd… did you make those yourself?” or “They are too cute! Where did you get their costumes??”. I get a lot of joy out of the rich, white ladies with the Prada shoes and the Gucci purses asking me, the mother of four with the tattoos, piercings and Green Day sweatshirt, where I got the kids’s costumes and I especially love the disappointed looks on their faces when I tell them that they can’t be bought anywhere.
The kids had a good time and there was very little whining, really, until Olivia started pulling candy out of her bag and eating it on the spot. I took away her candy bag and she pitched a big ass fit and Dean had a cow. Other than that, they were good… Matthew rubbed off most of his Darth Maul makeup about halfway through and Emi had to be partially undressed from her Ewok costume because she started to sweat inside the fur.My pictures of her suck, sadly and I considered redressing her just for the pics but then I forgot.Oh, well.
I thought Olivia would have her hat off after about two seconds but she surprised me and actually got upset when the thing fell off at one point. I was proud of her.
After trick or treating, we headed to the police station so Matthew could throw the mack down on some chick and it was an interesting experience to say the least. The cops had games and food and face painting and let the kids run the sirens on a squad car but the best part was inside during the party when we decided to get some punch and quickly realized that it had been spiked.
Someone had the balls to spike the punch at the police station Halloween party. Priceless.
What was especially hysterical was watching parents dole out cups of punch to their children and then taking sips from their own punch only to snatch the drinks away from their kids instantly. It happened in similar progressions of realizations and just about everyone I observed had identical reactions. Personally, I had to sit and chug about five cup fulls before I was convinced, but I like to be thorough about that kind of thing.
I didn’t give any punch to my kids but it wasn’t because of the booze. It was because the punch was red and there was a strong likelihood that if I allowed them to wander around with cups of red punch then one of them or all three of them would have ended up spilling the shit all over my couture. I can call it couture, you know, because it was all hand sewn. I’m so awesome.
One year ago today, I found out I was pregnant with my little, Emi monster. With this one year anniversary comes sadness and although I never thought it possible, I’m sad to know that I will never get to go through pregnancy and childbirth again. I look at my four babies and I think back through history to each of their births and remember how it felt to look them in the eyes for the first time and I get emotional.
But then I remember that they drive me crazy and I start to count down the days until they are all of age and able to leave my goddamned house so that I can sit back and be that drunk old lady with shitloads of blue eye shadow on and a pound of blush. It’ll be great. I look forward to this as though I’ll be 80 although I’ll actually be about 48 when the last of my brood turns eighteen. 48 is not old at all so maybe I’ll be a hip young woman or some crazy career driven shrew. Either way, it’ll be pretty wild.
Someday, I’ll have grandbabies and then I’ll get to experience all this all over again. Honestly, I know I’ll be that lady that harps on my kids to give me grandchildren and then I will spoil them rotten.
I’m going to make them some bitchin’ Halloween costumes.