The Obligatory Halloween Post

It's not that I don't want to write about Halloween, I just don't really feel like writing about Halloween.  I love Halloween, I am just over it now and happy that is it November.  I like November. (November is when I have a steady supply of Wassail in my fridge for whenever the mood may strike.)  I also like candy.  So I guess I do want to talk about Halloween.  We got so much candy that we started handing out their loot towards the end of the trick or treaters, by the fistfuls....they will never even notice.  The girls looked adorable, they had fun and the weather was surprisingly mild, albeit very, very windy.  I only made two of their costumes this year, the patterns of which moved me from "what the heck am I doing and what does that mean?" to the next seamstressing level of "what the heck am I doing and what does that symbol mean...ooh, look, it's a dress!"  We did a church party, a neighborhood party, trick or treating and three "non Halloween" class parties.  They were all fun.  And did I mention the candy? There was candy.  I revived the old, faithful sailor costume, comfy, warm, easy.  Clark was George Washington (I swear we'll return it someday, Carrie.) He spent the evening chatting up a storm with them wooden teeth.  Yadda yadda yadda, candy.  The End.

 (Hazel vehemently refused to wear any of the furry Halloween costumes I already had in her size...so I had Clark pick up the cheerleader when his boat was docked in Annapolis, MD last week...fooled her, she thought she was in regular clothes.  And don't you think Mia looks nice next to Abe? She kept backing up to people to sting them.)

 Abby couldn't keep her Rapenzel wig in place (and you can see her hot pink sweat pants under her skirt) but Haley got a trophy for best costume at our neighborhood party.  I think she impressed the judges during the costume parade - she was totally workin' it.  It absolutely made her day. (PS She was Alice, from Wonderland.)

Today I mostly feel like laying my  head on my Mom's lap and saying "Tell me a story.  Tell me what it's like to live with one other adult who puts his clothes somewhere other than the floor when he takes them off.  Tell me what it's like to live in a house where I am not throwing mis-fired wads of toilet paper from the floor into the toilet, or crumbs off of everywhere and smelling underwear (from a fair distance) to see where it belongs."  And then I will clothes my eyes and drift off into a delightful slumber, dreaming of cleaner days.  I concede that the daydream may or may not make me miss the days when my children were small. It's just one of those days.  I am going to pretend that I am really bored and want nothing more than to complete the items on my endless list of things to do.  I may have to wear my cute apron, and whistle.  Yes, I can do that.

Also, pennies really shouldn't be used anywhere near metal night lights. Ever.  A safety message brought to you by the daughter with blackened fingertips.
Also, the last tenants need to hire a painter that owns painter's tape.