Lagging far behind everyone else in the blogosphere, I am posting the Good house's Halloween recap.
A very scary yeast infection made an appearance in Josie's diaper, so the morning was spent at the doctor's, so that we could be told to use an off-the-shelf lady product. In an act of remarkable maturity, I simply paid for the little tube and did not feel the need to attribute the reason for the purchase to my daughter. See? I am a grown up and I don’t have to care if the world thinks I have an itchy coochy.
We then had a walk around the Danforth area, and came home where she had a nice nap. That gave me time to put our pumpkins outside and decorate the porch. Thankfully, nature provided some of her own decoration:
Yes, real spider is still in residence. Did I tell you about real spider? If I didn't, and because I'm too lazy to check my own archives, it goes like this -
This giant spider lives in the flower basket on the porch, and spins a web from the light to the cast iron flower holding trough, and it is growing ever larger and scarier as this is the perfect place to ensnare a gazillion bugs who keep going towards the light. Aside from the fact that you can guess how I feel about spiders, it is a continual reminder of the differences between how mommies are and how daddies are. Mommies pick up their babies and sing the Itsy Bitsy Spider, and talk about how pretty the web is and promise to read Charlotte's Web to them later on. Daddies pick up ants off the porch, stun them and throw them into the web, explaining how the spider eats bugs. Mommy, who with Josephine passes the spider ten times each day, has to continually explain to said toddler that she is not the parent who does cool things like aiding and abetting the food chain.
So during her nap I put the pumpkins outside. Steve and I carved them Sunday night while Josie sat on the floor and ate cat food, because we are responsible parents who don't let our daughter play with knives yet:
"CAT FOOD"?!!!? you say. "Why, you must have a cat now!" you conclude. I'll get to that.
The all-time favourite pumpkin was Daddy's kitty pumpkin. Despite his many sketches and intentions to use power tools like the jigsaw and dremel, Steve sweetly passed on his usual Kiss or Social Distortion-inspired pumpkin themes and carved a kitty face for Josie. She hugged it and kissed it and talked to it like it was a mouse named George.
And it was very cool when lit:
She was excited, but not nearly impressed enough by Mommy's rendition of her favourite character Mona in pumpkin form:
And although the neigbours and trick or treaters liked my head wound pumpkin best, the family only had a marginal appreciation for it:
No - really - it was VERY cool. See - here it is with the flash on:
Boy, the porch needs painting. But we can't get a hold of the guy we want to do it.
Anyway, after her nap, I got Josie dressed up in her costume which was assembled from vintage pieces we've been collecting. Sadly, and to her father's extreme disappointment, the 1950's ACME cowboy boots we've had for years waiting for a little Josie to fit in them wouldn't go on - a combination of stiff leather and a stiff toddler. Her Gymboree cowboy boot slippers were a fine stand-in. So after dinner, because even cowgirls need to eat their pasta, Josie went out for a few treats. She carried the kitty purse I made for her out of a coffee can and daddy's old sweater, she carried her steer named Poke Poke, and she wore the hat Steve brought her back from Austin.
The neighbours were exceedingly generous. Some had purchased special treats for her like washable markers and cute notepads, feather topped pencils, Teddy Grahams, fruit roll-ups and other toddler-friendly stuff. Gawd, I love my neighbourhood. Some just stuffed fistfuls of regular candy into her bag, even though I offered full disclosure that I was going to confiscate all the candy and that it would most likely end up going right to my hips. Gawd, I love my neighbourhood. (Actually, I lied. It's all going.. I mean went... straight to my ass.)
She had to be persuaded to go up each walk, and would very faintly say "Trick or Treat" after much prompting, and then would loudly say "Thankyoomuch" after the treat was given and would march toward home instead of the next house. Stairs had to be sized up, attempted after freeing up her hands so she could use the railings like a big girl, and then she'd turn around and ask for her kitty purse and poke poke before speaking to the homeowner. When asked what she was (or when she was told what a cute cowboy she was), she'd reply, in a tone inferring they were utter and complete idiots deserving her harshest contempt, "Towdirl Dosie". Is it wrong to be proud that my daughter has mastered a disdainful tone? Because I find mine gets a lot of exercise. Four houses was enough. There was too much excitement going on at home.
Josephine was happiest shelling out candy for the big kids, and would ask for "More kids please." after they left. She made Steve laugh, because the kids were just itching with impatience, wanting to run from house to house to grab as much candy as possible, and there would be Josie, slowly and painstakingly and deliberately reaching for an Oh Henry! while they shifted from foot to foot and eyed the sour gummies and better candy bars. Okay, pretty much everything else we gave out was better than the Oh Henries, but we were happy to be rid of them because we hate them too. Besides, it was getting late and the kids were getting bigger and bigger and the costumes more and more lackadaisical. I mean, at one point, I looked up at a teenager and said, "What are you going as? A loser?". Okay, I didn't say that out loud. I'm a parent now, and I know how fragile kids are, especially sugar fuelled tweens who are already carrying some guilt about being physically too big for Halloween despite having the brains of eight year olds. But when I asked what he was in my best sitcom housewifely mom voice, as he was dressed in a shirt and tie and carrying a hockey stick and I was truly mystified, he informed me in his best comic book store nerd voice that he was a hockey player. They're often required to wear suits and ties to and from games, you know. "OH. Here's an Oh Henry." was my response to that one. I still think it's a lame costume.
For the record, the best costume award this year goes to Steve. He pinned a fuzzy Easter chick decoration to his sweater and went as a "chick magnet"! Hahahaha!
So, afterwards Josie was happy to ride her bouncy horse and burn off some of the excitement - and was feeling brave enough to "Look! No Hands!", which gives me my usual daily 'how is she nearly going to hurt herself and cry today' scare:
The next day I found juice-swollen kibble inside the Kitty pumpkin, because apparently toddlers can't tell real animals from fake animals. Steve read that they think anything with a face is alive. I have to agree, because she talks to the plastic spider with the same enthusiasm as she does to the kitty.
The kitty! The kitty? Well, I've got to get going. I guess I'll have to tell you about the kitty in the next post.