Mall-O-Ween

If you haven't taken your kids trick-or-treating at the mall, I highly recommend.

The annual Mall-O-Ween in Philadelphia serves two mutually beneficially purposes: it enables mall stores to fulfill the community service requirement in their leasing contracts, and it provides the opportunity for shoppers who haven't been to the mall since half of its stores went bankrupt to "fall in love all over again with style and fashion." At least that is what the banner above the elevator says.

Of course, my offspring needed no assistance in the fashion and design department. My trio paraded through the mall in their Halloween finest. Cortlen flat out refused to wear the costume that he had picked out three days earlier, declaring it repulsive and ugly. Kellen lasted a whopping five minute in his costume before stripping down to his street clothes. The reason: he saw a girl from school wearing the same outfit.

"You made me dress like a girl!" he screamed before stuffing the cheetah costume in the back of the stroller.

Seeing her brothers relieved of their costumes gave Camber all the encouragement she needed to disrobe in public as well.

"I don't want to be Cleopatra anymore!" she said, ripping off her fabric headpiece. When I made the unforgivable error of reaching for the object, she dangled it over the ledge of the second floor railing.

"All right, we're outta here," I said, herding three bad attitudes toward the door. I also mumbled something about ingrates and never doing this again but my thoughts were largely lost on my children, who at that point were engrossed in the task of separating the wheat from the chaff in their trick-or-treat buckets.

We were almost to the exit when we were stopped by a man-child in his early twenties. He was holding a bowl of candy and was standing next to a store that sells New Moon action figures and nose rings.

"What are you guys supposed to be?" the man asked my children sneeringly.

I didn't say anything, but I could have asked the same of him. The man was wearing a Speedo and roller skates.

And nothing else.

****
Have you had better luck with your kids' costumes? I hope so!

The Haunted House

Thanks to an eleven-year-old neighbor, my children now know the truth about our house; namely, that it's haunted. No one knows for sure who died in our house or when, but judging from the quantity of red carpet and green wallpaper that graced our humble abode at the time of our move-in, my best guess is Santa.

"There are no ghosts in this house," I assured my children. "Small rodents, maybe, but definitely no ghosts."

My children were more disappointed than relieved by this news. In protest, they've spent the past week trying to prove me wrong.

Early Tuesday morning, I opened the pantry door to retrieve some oatmeal and my daughter popped out. "Boo!" she screamed.

The first time that my kids startled me, it was funny. Ditto for the second and third times. By the fourteenth time, I started to fear for my children's safety.

"All of the ghosts need to disappear for awhile," I warned Kellen and Camber.

"Nuts!" shrieked Cortlen, tumbling out of the hall closet.

At 5:37am this morning, I felt the presence of a real-life apparition standing next to my bed. I opened my eyes to find Kellen three inches from my face.

"Boo!" he whispered.

"You've got to be kidding me," I growled. "Why aren't you in your bed?" I wanted to know.

"I don't feel so good," he explained. That's when I noticed my son's unnaturally pale skin.

When Cortlen stumbled in our room as white as a sheet a few hours later, I was forced to apologize.

"I stand corrected," I told my children. "There are ghosts in this house. And they have the flu."

The Room Mother Halloween Party

The most recent thorn in my side is my assistant room mother, a woman named Melanie. Technically, Melanie and I share the title of room mother, but I've already secretly demoted her. Don't get me wrong; Melanie is a perfectly nice person. My husband thinks that's part of the problem. In the fifteen total minutes that I've spent with Melanie, I learned that she gets a 25% discount at the local craft store and has been a room mother for six consecutive years. Melanie is also a licensed nurse and gets to wear white clogs and a stethoscope around her neck all day.

Now you can see why I can't work with her. I seethe with jealousy.

On Friday, Melanie and I met with our children's first grade teacher, who told us that we are responsible for the class Halloween party. The party is supposed to last 45 minutes and is to include a costume parade around the school parking lot, a game, a snack, and an age-appropriate craft.

After the meeting was over, I made Melanie a very generous offer: I would take charge of the Halloween party if she would coordinate the Thanksgiving Feast.

Melanie smiled politely and told me that she would rather work on both parties together.

"Are you okay?" Melanie asked a few seconds later.

I lied and told her that my twitch of annoyance was really a facial tic.

"I have a craft idea," I said, ignoring her suggestion that we brainstorm ideas together.

On cue, I produced a toilet paper pumpkin from my bag.

(photo and how-to from Chocolate on my Cranium)

Melanie continued to smile politely but shook her head when I asked her if she wanted to hold the pumpkin.

"That's very nice," she said, "But sadly, I don't think that's a realistic craft for this school," she told me. She went on to point out the fact that we couldn't solicit monetary donations for class parties and that parental response to requests for supplies was spotty at best.

I began to resent having an assistant and wondered if I could fire her.

"You'd better watch it," husband warned, "Or she's going to fire you."

The fear of losing the job and my position of superiority put things in perspective. I instantly shaped up and gave the green light to an exciting and totally unique game called "Pin the Hat on the Witch."

That was Friday. Yesterday at my daughter's soccer game, another room mother from the school asked me what I'm planning to be.

I didn't know what she was talking about until she informed me that all of the room moms traditionally wear costumes to the Halloween parties.

Some good ideas take weeks to germinate before they take root. Others blossom instantly.

"I'm going to be a nurse," I announced.

I told the woman that I would be wearing handmade scrubs made out of fabric purchased with a 25% off coupon from the craft store. I left out the fact that my name badge will read "Head Nurse" and instead of wearing one stethoscope around my neck, I will have two.

Portrait of an Artist

Last week, some friends from my husband's work hosted a Halloween party. Tim was clearly worried that I would make the other wives look bad because he kept inviting me--and then uninviting me--to the fiesta. Three hours before the party, he was still unsure of whether or not he wanted me there. I strongly dislike social events of any kind and normally would have jumped for joy at being given an excuse not to attend one. The fact that my husband made such a big deal about me not really being welcome at the party meant, of course, that I insisted upon going.

Not only did I commit to attend the event, but I also volunteered to bring a dessert. Being the good little homemaker that I am, I made a vamped up version of my special kitty litter cake.

Tim was thrilled with my contribution to the party fare; so were several of his coworkers.
"That's disgusting," said one woman as she bit into a store-bought cupcake with glow-in-the dark orange frosting and black sprinkles.

I assumed that a cake decorated with mock cat excrement would be the crowd favorite. That prize, however, went instead to a shockingly realistic display of edible human feces.

(The top and bottom toilet seat lids are made out of paper plates. The "droppings" themselves are rice krispy treats dipped in chocolate and rolled in peanuts and/or fruity pebbles)

Needless to say, I dedicated the rest of the party to hunting down the artistic genius behind this masterpiece. To prevent everyone from thinking that I was more interested in the dessert than in them, I made a specific point to not talk about the chocolate turds right off the bat. Most of my conversations with Tim's coworkers began like this:

"Hello. I'm Jana. Nice to meet you. Did you make the toilet bowl filled with poo?"

At the time, three sentence fragments seemed a sufficient lead up to the subject that I really wanted to discuss. In hindsight, I may have benefited from a few more.

When I finally located the artist, I effusively praised the woman for her creativity, passion, and overall good taste.

"That is the most amazing thing that I have ever seen," I gushed, as my body folded into a deferential bow.

My compliments were cut short by a tug on my elbow. As my husband dragged me away from her holiness, I wiped tears of gratitude from my eyes. Most people live their entire lives and never get so close to greatness. I am indeed blessed.

Trick-or-Treat

There are only about 20 kids that live in our neighborhood and 1/4 of them live in my house. To make up for the relatively low number of trick-or-treaters that my neighbors receive on Halloween night, most hand out high quality candy. In addition to offering full-sized Twix bars and jumbo boxes of strawberry Nerds, my neighbors also include in their candy baskets a few pieces of nasty candy, just for my kids.

At the first house that we went to, it pained me to watch my panda, nurse, and poisonous koala choose Tootsie Roll suckers over giant Snickers bars and packs of Bubbalicious gum. Of course I couldn't say or do anything about it while on my neighbor's doorstep (that would be rude). My chiding would have to wait until we reached the sidewalk.

"The next time that you see a big bag of Skittles," I advised, "Grab it!"
Everyone nodded their heads, leading me to falsely believe that they understood my order and were willing to follow it.

At the next house, all three of my kids grabbed a handful of chocolate turds.
"No more Tootsie Rolls!" I begged once we reached the safety of the street. "Please!"
My kids' poor judgment was ruining my Halloween.
My husband told me that if I wanted a Mr. Goodbar that bad then I should go home and put on my Cleopatra costume.

After coming to terms with the fact that I was not going to be able to control myself, I told my husband that he would have to escort the trick-or-treaters to the front doors while I waited at the end of the driveways, telling myself over and over that what I don't know can't hurt me.

The Witch and the Nurse

My plan to spend the day at a local farm with my kids--going on hayrides, picking out pumpkins that have been shipped in from Kentucky, and consuming overpriced doughnuts and apple cider--was foiled by a freak blizzard.

The joy of wading through 2 inches of snow all day was made even more joyful by the news that the storm's epicenter seemed to be directly over my house. It didn't snow at all downtown and only slight flurries were reported 20 minutes to the west and east.

Although we were sad that our field trip had to be postponed, we were fortunate to have available to us a number of alternative (and indoor) forms of seasonal entertainment, including a scavenger hunt at a nearby bookstore, which was free for kids dressed in Halloween costumes.

"Get in the car!" I shouted up the stairs.

Camber slowly emerged from her lair, wearing underpants and a pink kitty shirt.

"I think that something is missing," I observed, "Besides the obvious."

"I'm not wearing pants," she threatened.

I was thrilled to to not be the evil witch for once.
"That's fine," I said, "Because you're supposed to wear your Halloween costume anyway."

"I'm not wearing my Halloween costume either," came the reply. "It's disgusting."

The offensive object to which my daughter was referring was a $29.99 non-refundable nurse costume that she just HAD to have a week ago.

"Put the costume on please," I said firmly.

"No! I'm not going anywhere! I'm staying right here!"

I could feel the evil witch returning. I tried to bribe her with a package of M&M's, but she would not be silenced.

"Put the nurse costume on now!" shrieked the witch, "Or you are going to need a doctor."

Nurse Hot Flash

I am thoroughly confused by why my five year-old daughter wants no part of the baboon Halloween costume that I purchased for her two months ago at a local thrift store.

http://themeanestmom.blogspot.com/2008/08/halloween-costumes.html

"It has a red bottom!" she wailed the other day.
"Yes!" I agreed. "That's the best part!"

Although I am perplexed by my daughter's refusal to wear prosthetic butt cheeks to her kindergarten Halloween party, I have decided to take my husband's advice and let her choose another costume.

Over the past few weeks, I have made a number of very excellent costume suggestions including jellyfish, cheese steak, and Copacabana dancer. Unfortunately, none of these ideas struck my daughter's fancy.

Just as I was beginning to get excited over the prospect that by default, I may get my little baboon after all, my daughter went and crushed all of my hopes and dreams.

"I want to be a nurse for Halloween," she announced to me yesterday morning in the NICU.
I snarled at the perky twenty-something NICU nurse standing next to me.
"Bad example," I whispered under my breath.

As we discovered on our afternoon shopping trip later that day, child nurse costumes are easy to find. Another good thing is that all of the costumes are really good quality. I pulled a $19.99 nurse costume out of a plastic bag at a Halloween superstore and, in the process, almost popped my hand right through it. I was pleased to discover that the costume was made of the same durable paper as the dressing gowns in my doctor's office.

"I'm not buying this," I announced to my daughter.
Before I could suggest that we try some other places, she started to cry.

"Do you know why I want to be a nurse for Halloween?" she asked me through crocodile tears.
I did not know, but I had a feeling that the cute NICU nurse had something to do with it.

"It's because you and I could be nurses together," Camber continued.
I had no idea what my daughter was talking about until she disappeared down the next aisle over and returned carrying a plastic bag containing the uniform belonging to "Nurse Hot Flash."

"Mmm," I said, examining the picture of the overexposed and extremely well-endowed nurse on the front of the package.

"This is a very nice costume," I agreed, "Especially for our church trunk-or-treat."

Camber beamed in anticipation.

"But I'm worried that I might get a little cold."

"You could run around a lot to keep warm," Camber suggested.

"Oh yes," I said, "That's a very good idea. I didn't think of that. In that case, I'll give it some serious thought."

Burying Bad Habits

When I saw the display of Styrofoam headstones at Dollar Tree last week, I knew that would be needing at least 15 of them. What exactly I would be needing them for, however, was, at the time, uncertain.

The headstones stood lined up against my living room wall for a few days while I considered my options. Making a cemetery out of them in my front yard was too predictable, and thus out of the question. So was using them as kick boards at the community pool.

After reading a Berenstain Bears book on bad habits last Friday, my kids and I realized that we had all of the supplies necessary to "bury" ours. We spent the rest of the afternoon making individual coffins out of empty grape crates that I found next to the dumpster at a local home brewery shop. After spray painting the crates black, we filled them with crumpled newspaper and covered them with scraps of colored satin (I would have used kitty litter if I didn't have cats). Then we attached the headstones and creepy crows with a glue gun.

When I asked Cortlen what bad habit he was going bury, he had trouble thinking of one. Fortunately, his siblings were very helpful and offered up lots of suggestions.

Camber had a friend from school over when we made the graveyards, so the friend made one too. When the girl's mother arrived at our house to retrieve her daughter, she saw the graveyards and was very impressed.

"Oh, you made a coffin," she said to her daughter. "That's just great."

I was pleased that the woman liked them so much.

"If you want, I can show you how to make more," I offered, disproving everyone's theory that I am not a nice person.

Sadly, the woman turned me down.

Maybe I'll make her a dozen anyway and leave them on her doorstep.

P.S. Do you have any gross and/or slightly disturbing Halloween kids' crafts that you would be willing to share? If so, please tell! We've made Kleenex-covered Dum Dum ghosts three times in the past week. As thrilling as this is, we're ready to move on to bigger and creepier projects.

I'll Love You Till the Day I Die

I have found love in the strangest of places...like at the Halloween display at my local Michael's (chain arts and crafts store). Yesterday, we bumped into a newlywed couple while searching for the advertised weekly special: an animatronic skeleton shackled inside a jail cell made out of bones. Despite the ferocity with which Mr. Bones rattled his cage, the skeleton couldn't detract attention away from the happy couple.

Always eager to teach my children about the value of love and importance of marital commitment, we stopped to talk to the couple and offer up our warmest congratulations.

"I've loved her since the day I died!" screeched the groom.
"Isn't that sweet?" I asked my kids.
The bride just blinked her eyes...which were attached to the head that was dangling from her right hand.
"What happened to her head?" asked Kellen, examining the bloody stump that was the bride's neck.

I was spared having to explain the complications of decapitation by the bride who, overwhelmed with emotion on her big day, suddenly burst into violent convulsions. My kids felt bad for the woman, but not bad enough to save her from a second seizure. As soon as number 1 subsided, they squeezed the "push here" button on the bride's ring finger for a second time.

Watching his bride suffer made the groom very angry.
"I'll have her and hold her over my dead body!" he screamed, rolling his eyes into the back of his head for good measure.
"Now that's true love," I admired.
"That's disgusting," scoffed another mom, as she pushed a shopping cart full of sobbing children past us.

I learned from Chatty Cathy at the check-out stand that there is a minor uproar in my town over Bloody Mary and her ashen-faced groom. Despite receiving complaints from several angry moms, the store refuses to ask the couple to honeymoon elsewhere.

I for one support the store's decision. The poor bride and groom are being judged solely on appearance, and that's simply not fair. Not everyone is fortunate enough to have their head on their shoulders. What is clear, however, is that the couple loves each other very much. Moreover, they aren't afraid to vocalize their affections, something that my husband and I have struggled with as of late.

Inspired by the couple's loving devotion, I took it upon myself to glean a few pointers from them. I even wrote down some of the couple's best "sweet nothings" on the back of a grocery receipt. Dinner seemed an appropriate time to pull one out. I dug my wedding veil out of the kids' dress up box and put it on.

"I'd kill to watch a movie with you tonight," I cackled to my husband.
"You're scaring me," he said.