Lawyerish

Turkey Redux (Turdux?)

Thanksgiving pretty much went according to plan, except for the part where I almost killed everyone.

Felicity and I put on our finest corduroy dresses and I donned a fancy apron (and went barefoot, for a touch of class and hygiene): 

(Apron was $19.99 at Bed Bath & Beyond, in case you want to pick one up.)

I started prepping around 11am, threw the turkey in at 11:30, and alternated between playing hostess and hovering over various cooking implements while perusing Twitter and Facebook.  As one does.

My meat thermometer showed the turkey as being overdone -- like 15 degrees over the recommended temperature -- a good half hour before I expected it to be done.  I met this with skepticism and left it in for another half hour, at which point I did some test-stabs in a bunch of different spots, and the juices ran clear so, by all appearances, it was done. 

We took it out and let it rest for almost thirty minutes, then Joe started carving and I did all the last-minute juggling and took out the dressing and the potatoes from the oven and everything was all ready to roll.  UNTIL:  Joe was like, "Uh. Ooohhhh.  You...might want to look at this."  He'd carved half of the meat off, then had run into a RAW AREA of the breast, way down toward the bone.  It was...not good.  I chucked the uncarved turkey and the carved meat (the TAINTED MEAT) back into the roasting pan and amped up the heat and let it roll for another half hour.  I also cleaned the SHIT out of the kitchen, as if every bead of moisture on the counter could potentially KILL US ALL. 

It may have been a tad excessive, but I was unwilling to be That Woman on the evening news, whose Thanksgiving dinner Took a Turn for the Tragic when she unleashed salmonella on the whole family.  I was also afraid to post about any of this until we had all survived for a few days and were in the clear.  There could have been CRIMINAL CHARGES. 

I fretted over the sides getting cold (they didn't) and the timing being all thrown off (it wasn't), but all was well once we got settled and fed and had some prosecco to soothe our (my) frazzled nerves. 

Felicity was an enthusiastic customer, and she really, REALLY loved Pioneer Woman's cranberry sauce.  "More cranberries?  MORE CRANBERRIES?!  Some?  SOME?"  I could not have a moment's peace until I gave her all of the remaining cranberry sauce, and even then I think she was a hair's breadth away from demanding that I go make another batch.

Oh, and the night before TG, Felicity and I briefly braved the insane crowds to see a bit of the balloon-inflation action over by the museum.  She was thrilled with the subway ride and liked seeing Snoopy (not that she knows who he is, but she sensed his importance) and "PINK BUNNY!  BIG PINK BUNNY RABBIT!" (that would be the Energizer bunny).  Aaand, that was about how far we got since there were a zillion people and I can only carry a 28-ish-pound child so far without needing a hip replacement.  Next year she'll be better able to appreciate it, we'll go a little earlier, and I will bring a stroller and/or strong men for backup.

And now, here we are: Christmas season is in full swing.  I am damn near finished with all my shopping (has it not seemed A BIT RUSHED, even more so than usual?), which only means that I will continually panic-buy even MORE gifts as December 25 nears, because I will convince myself that I don't have ENOUGH, when really the fact is that I just don't even REMEMBER what all I bought (my compulsive list-checking and crossing-off notwithstanding). 

(Oddly, the panic-buying applies to everyone on my list EXCEPT Felicity -- we (and Santa) have just the right balance of presents for her, without going overboard; she's little and she is likely to be a bit overwhelmed by the whole Christmas THING and all the STUFF, anyway.)

Of course, being done early is GOOD, and now I can kick back and enjoy the cozy evenings, the favorite holiday movies, and the childlike anticipation of all that Christmas brings.  I have a few more searches going on for That Last Perfect Gift, but that's part of the fun, too.  And if I don't find it, that's okay, too. 

We have enough.  We have more than enough.

 

A Thanksgiving Meme I Made Up Just Now

I really like to hear the details of other people's holiday traditions, so I am putting this little questionnaire out there in case any of you want to share your Thanksgiving minutiae with the rest of us.  (PLEASE DO.  ALL OF YOU.) 

1. Are you celebrating Thanksgiving at home or elsewhere this year?  With whom will you spend Thanksgiving Day?
We're having it at home and Joe's dad and brother are coming to spend the day with us.  We don't have a set tradition about TG location, but in recent years we have mostly stayed put.  Last year, my parents came up, too, which was really fun, and on occasion in the past we've hosted friends.  I will admit that I like not having to travel, although I have also enjoyed the years when we've gone away and had a big family reunion-type deal somewhere.

2. What do you have for breakfast on Thanksgiving?
I don't have any special breakfast tradition for TG.  When I was growing up, my mom always got up at the crack of dawn to start the turkey, and now that I am cooking my own TG dinner, I can't figure out why it had to cook for so long.  My turkey only has to cook for about 3 hours, max.  Admittedly, it's a small one; but it's not like my mom was feeding 50 people.  Mysterious.  Anyway, we never had a special TG breakfast, and I feel like being in charge of the big dinner is enough for me for one day, so I have my usual granola bar and then of course I kind of graze all day as I'm cooking.

3. Do you go to a Thanksgiving parade or watch one on TV?
I have never been to the Macy's parade, and with my crowd-averse husband I doubt I ever will unless my mom comes up and we take Felicity to it by ourselves.  I usually have the parade on TV in the morning while I scuttle back and forth to the kitchen and flap my hands over what to do first.  Or sometimes I go for a run and check out all the people walking toward the parade route.  From the loop in the park, you can see the balloons going by, too.

4. Do you serve appetizers, lunch, or snacks during the day (i.e., for the men to eat while they lounge around and watch football)?
This year, I plan to put out crudites and dip and some cheese straws from a box. 

5. What do you wear on Thanksgiving? 
When I was growing up, we kind of Dressed for the Dinner Table, which was fitting because my mom used the formal china and the sterling and we had fancy crystal and ate in the dining room by candlelight.  But when I got older (college and beyond) I think we slacked off and started showing up in jeans. I think I've worn jeans for probably the last ten Thanksgivings at LEAST.  Possibly the past 20 (I am OLD).  And yet, I am actually thinking about putting on a dress tomorrow, just for the heck of it.  I also bought a very cute vintage-y Hostess Apron to wear (though I am sure it will be no match for the inevitable messes I will make in the kitchen), and I think it would look better over a dress.

6. What's your Thanksgiving table like -- do you use special plates/silver/glasses, etc?  Do you have a centerpiece?  A color scheme?  Candles?
We didn't register for fine china or flatware because we don't have the space for them; so we use our regular old Crate and Barrel stuff.  I do have Waterford crystal, though (my grandmother started buying it for me when I was born and we completed the set when we got married), so I break that out and put fabric placemats and cloth napkins on the table (I have a tablecloth somewhere, but its location is currently unknown and anyway I wouldn't be able to find the iron (nor the energy to USE the iron) that I am sure would be needed to make it usable).  I have a centerpiece that is a sort of rectangular Nambe bowl that I fill with votives.  I would have gotten flowers to spruce up the table, but I forgot and I don't feel like dealing with it now (do you sense a theme here?  one of UTTER LAZINESS?). 

7.  Do you serve buffet-style or family-style?  What do you have to drink?
If we had a dining room with an actual buffet, I would use serving pieces and do it that way, all proper like my mama taught me.  Instead, we serve buffet-style in the kitchen off the pots and pans on the stove.  The carved turkey meat does get its own platter, though.  To drink, this year I have prosecco, Champagne, pinot noir, and ice water on offer.

8.  Once you're at the table, do you say grace or a toast or does everyone go around and say what they're thankful for?
My family always held hands and did a silent prayer, which I think is a lovely tradition that I am going to start enforcing in my own home (though I would also be open to saying grace so people don't just sit there and think about how much they want to dig into their mashed potatoes), and we would then raise our glasses and do "skol" or "cheers" or "happy Thanksgiving" in a little toast, during which my dad always commended my mom on the meal. Then we just talked about normal stuff; I don't think we ever had any kind of structured Gratitude Thing.  But I'm not opposed to that, especially as Felicity gets older. 

9.  Do you have dessert right after the main meal or later on?
I like to linger over the Thanksgiving dinner table.  I really try not to shovel all the food down in two seconds, even though I usually want to because I'm starving and it is SO GOOD.  I consciously make myself slow down and really taste it.  Plus since we are usually eating with family, I like to have nice dinner conversation and all that.  After we've eaten however many helpings and talked and laughed for a while, in my tradition the men are tasked with cleaning everything up (while the women hover around and criticize how they're doing it -- ha!).  Once the kitchen and table are clean and the leftover casserole made (see below), there is usually lounging/chatting time, but I don't like to wait TOO long before dessert, because hello, there is COOL WHIP to be had.  And if you have dessert early enough, you usually get a bit hungry again before bedtime so you can scarf up some more delicious food and another piece of pie before cashing it in for the night.

10.  What do you do with your leftovers?
I have probably blogged about this every year since I started this site and you are all ENOUGH ALREADY ABOUT THE DAMN CASSEROLE, but in case anyone needs a reminder, I make sort of a Thanksgiving shepherd's pie that was passed down from my grandmother and it is the BEST THING EVER. 

Put a layer of stuffing in a baking pan (I use 9x13), then a layer of turkey (you can make it half dark/half white or whatever you like, depending on your meat preferences), then dribble gravy over that, then pour over the peas and spread them out, then top with a generous layer of mashed potatoes. 
Before reheating (I think I usually cook it at 400 for a good hour, but maybe it's more like 375; I DON'T KNOW, whatever you would usually do for a casserole type thing), put pats of butter on the potatoes, and serve with plenty of butter and salt at the table.  For two of us, this usually nets three dinners, and I will tell you, I am always SAD when it is gone. 

Your turn!  GO!

The Long Winter

A few weeks ago, Felicity had a runny nose and a little cough for a few days.  Then Joe got a terrible Man Cold that lasted over a week (part of which fell when F and I were in Florida, so he had a weekend alone to convalesce -- a parental LUXURY, if you ask me).  I have been sick for the past four days; I had no voice over the weekend and now I've got a rib-breaking cough and a terrible sore throat, and I just want to sleep for DAYS. 

Also this weekend, the dog got sick to his stomach in multiple, terribly unpleasant ways.  Every year, he does this; when the temperature drops below 50, he ends up getting giardia or some unspecified gastrointestinal ailment and the cycle of him being sick and then marginally ok and then sick again goes on until it warms up again in May or sometimes JUNE.

This morning, Felicity woke up cranky and sniffly, and I just feel like we're about to start that cycle again and it's going to be like this ALL WINTER.

HELLLLPPPPPPPPPPPPP.

In other news, yesterday we were at a playground in the park and saw a rather spectacular confrontation.  A woman was sitting about 50 feet from the playground fence in a grassy area with her pack of small dogs.  She must have had seven dogs, maybe eight or nine -- dachsunds, chihuahuas, pomeranians; nothing bigger than a sneeze -- and she was letting them run around off-leash.  It was around 4 in the afternoon; dogs are only permitted to be off-leash in the park before 9am or after 9pm. 

A dad was throwing a ball around with his two elementary school-aged kids in that same area.  At one point, the boy ran to catch the ball and the dogs suddenly came rushing at him and were jumping all over him and yapping their heads off.  The boy started screaming -- not a terrified scream, but he clearly wanted the dogs away from him -- and the woman called her dogs to her but she didn't get up to try to retrieve them.  The boy was running around with the dogs yelping and nipping at him and finally she went over and shooed them away.

The dad came over and told her that she wasn't supposed to have her dogs off-leash -- and I didn't hear his tone, but from body language it didn't seem like he was aggressive about it, plus let's remember that that IS the law -- and she started screaming, "I HATE CHILDREN!  KEEP YOUR CHILDREN INSIDE THE PLAYGROUND!  LEAVE ME ALONE!"  So then this other dad inside the playground called out to her in a very neutral, advisory tone that she has to keep her dogs on the leash, and she yelled some more: "I DETEST CHILDREN!  Keep them INSIDE the playground!  LEAVE ME ALONE!  I HATE CHILDREN!" 

This went on for several minutes, and finally she collected her dogs and put their leashes back on and left, but not before screaming some more about how much she despises children and how her dogs weren't the problem. 

Ok, lady.  Carry on.  And maybe find a place to detest children that isn't within spitting distance of a playground?

Finally, I am getting revved up about Thanksgiving (though I'm hoping this cold takes its leave before then, so I don't end up having a Vicks VapoRub-scented meal) and strategizing, as I do every year, how I'm going to get everything ready in the right timeframe and all of those fun logistics. 

Here's what I'm making:

Roasted turkey and gravy. I am undecided about brining.  We've brined for the past few years, but last year there was a Brining Incident, wherein the bag containing the raw turkey and the brining water (contaminated with raw turkey-ness) broke as we were putting it in the fridge, and it took us a VERY long time to clean that up, plus I worried for ages that there was some salmonella-soaked leaf of rosemary lurking about in the crisper drawer and we were all going to DIE.  So.  I'd rather avoid a repeat of that.  On the other hand:  brining = delicious.  Hmm.

Pioneer Woman's Mashed Potatoes.  I had forgotten until I perused my archives that last year I made TEN POUNDS of these and it was...too much.  This year I'm making five pounds for four adults and a child, and I expect to have plenty left over for the Thanksgiving casserole and to hoover frantically from the bottom of the pan as we're putting dishes in the dishwasher.

Stuffing from a bag made with sauteed celery and onion plus butter and chicken broth.

Roasted butternut squash and sweet potatoes (cut into chunks; toss with olive oil, cinnamon, salt and pepper, a bit of curry powder and a dash of honey; roast @ 400 for 30-40 min).

Peas.

Pioneer Woman's Cranberry Sauce.

Pillsbury Crescent Rolls.

Pumpkin crisp with Cool Whip.

Prosecco and pinot noir.

Oh, and to keep people from chewing the furniture while I cook this ELABORATE MEAL for HOURS ON END, I am putting out a platter of celery, carrots, pita chips and ranch dressing.  If that isn't enough, then they're on their own. 

Though these cheeks will also be available for snacking.

 

Addendum

As if to prove my point about her clumsiness, one evening last week Felicity managed to pull the kitchen table over, in the two seconds that her dinner dishes were being put in the sink.  I was in the next room and heard the crash, and I don't think I am exaggerating when I say that I ripped through the space-time continuum to get to my child.  I crossed the room in negative-two seconds, my feet never once touching the ground. 

Not ten minutes earlier, J had been teasing Felicity about her milk mustache and Felicity had been repeating "milk-stache" over and over and cracking up.  It seems the most carefree moments always immediately precede the most angst-ridden, don't they? 

Anyway, I picked up my screaming baby and confirmed that, despite being very startled and having a slightly fat lip, she was in one piece with no need for medical attention.  I held her and gave her a straw-cup of water to calm her down and to make her lip feel better.  She hiccup-sobbed for a bit, then she stopped drinking and looked at me and said, "Water-stache." 

Thank you!  She'll be here all week!

Her other latest move, by the way, is to make a quick ploy for sympathy when she does something she's not supposed to.  Her most frequent transgressions are quite mild -- throwing food on the floor and climbing on things in the house (see, e.g., the kitchen table incident described above) (most of our furniture is bolted to the wall, so there is no danger of her toppling a bookcase; the kitchen table was...not something I'd thought to have babyproofed, however) -- but they are officially Against the Rules nonetheless. 

So, knowing fully well The Rules, when she tosses an unwanted grape on the floor or starts to clamber onto the coffee table, she will look at me, anticipating my calm but firm reprimand, and say, "It's okay."  Then, she'll lean toward me and say, "Hug."  

Request: granted. 

She is so onto us.

Twenty Months

Spending the day with Felicity is something like having your own miniature play-by-play announcer.  "Mommy drying her hair!  Bish-tee walkin'!  Mommy walkin'.  Daddy walkin'.  Bish-tee funny.  Mommy eating a cereal bar!  Mommy tired. Baby tired.  YOU tired."  She also alternates between referring to herself in the second or third person.  Sometimes she is "Bish-tee"; sometimes she's "you."  And occasionally, she is "baby," but usually "baby" refers to one of her dolls, which have become her proxies.  "Baby need a snack!  Baby want some milk.  Baby need a diaper change!  Baby tired."  She even makes Baby rub her eyes with her fists when she's ready for a nap. 

She has several babies: Naked Baby, Polka-Dot Baby, Baby Shoes On, and then the nameless baby with moveable arms and legs (her legs are never right; Felicity always hands her to me and says "NEGS STRAIGHT" but the legs don't GO straight, and this causes much consternation -- apparently someone has very strict aesthetics around here).  Each serves its own arcane but highly specific purpose.  Usually a baby has to come sit on the kitchen table while Felicity dines ("Baby watch you eat!") and sits on the radiator cover while she takes a bath. 

Speaking of which, perhaps my favorite time of day is when I tell Felicity it's bath time.  First, she runs for the bathroom, where I strip her down while the tub fills up, and then she runs around the house maniacally, yelling, "NAKED BABY!  NAKED BABY!"  This streaking episode often results in a bit of pee finding its way onto the rug, but the minor clean-up is worth the sight of that little tush running wild through the apartment. 

Another of her favorite refrains is "All by selfs."  She wants to do EVERYthing without help, and this is a minor inconvenience considering that she does not have the dexterity to handle a lot of the tasks she wants to conquer.  We say, "Just a little help!", or sometimes I say, "You're doing it by yourself" even as I assist, because otherwise we will never leave the house again. 

Unfortunately, Felicity seems to take after me in one respect other than her red hair and dogged determination: she is incredibly clumsy.  She walks into walls; she trips over her feet; she falls in complicated ways when she's just standing there.  A lot of the time, she fails to look where she's going; just this morning, she was mesmerized by something over her shoulder and cruised right into the closed door before I could stop her. She is otherwise such a bright and capable girl, and she is physically developing well (she climbs and tumbles and slides just fine); I think she just needs to pay more attention to her environment or something.  Not that I can cast stones, mind you; I am as graceless as they come and can find ways to injure myself just sitting on the couch. 

I'm finding that I get more and more ecstatic as Felicity becomes increasingly her own person.  I of course love when she snuggles with me (which is increasing as well as she's getting bigger; she was never the world's most cuddly baby) and when she needs her mama; but it thrills me that soon we'll be able to have actual conversations, that she'll be able to tell me all about her day and ask us about the world around her. 

As great as a baby as she was, and as much as I occasionally want to rewind for a moment to feel her all tiny in my arms again, I am loving her toddlerhood even more than her babyhood.  Every stage has been joyous, but with each passing milestone, taking care of her becomes less stressful.  It's sort of less mechanical and more...enriching, if that makes sense. I will always have to make sure I do my part on giving her good meals and making sure she gets enough sleep and those sort of things, but what I give to her as she gets older is so much more than well-timed feedings and carefully calibrated naps.  There's more give and take, maybe, and there's certainly more seeing-the-world-through-her-eyes, and I'm just so EXCITED for all the things we get to do together. 

For example, even with our trip to Florida, it was so FUN to get to tell her beforehand that we were going to see Grammie and Granddad, and then when we got there she KNEW WHO THEY WERE, and after we left she was still talking about them!  Same with going to the beach or the playground -- we talk about going there, we go there and she interacts with us and with what's around her, and then she remembers it later.  I don't know why I find this so astonishing, but it IS.  Just a YEAR ago, we took her to Seattle, and she couldn't even say "mama"; she hadn't the first clue where we were or why it was special to be in a cool new place with her extended family.  And now, here she is, this PERSON who's become her self more and more every moment of the day.  It's the most awesome thing to witness.

And here's where I tell here, all sneaky-like at the end, that I am well nigh certain that Felicity is my one and only; my first, my last, my everything. 

A few months ago, even though we'd been planning to have a second child, the thought began to rise in me -- as in, I would wake up in the middle of the night thinking it, with the clarity of someone speaking directly in my ear -- that I did not want another baby, that I felt 100% complete and fulfilled as a mother, and that I was and will always be content with our family just how it is. 

I sat with that thought for a while -- weighing it, observing it, turning it over in my hands -- and instead of passing, it only got stronger.  I acted like the decision had already been made not to have another child, and suddenly I could breathe; I could make plans for the future without building in contingencies, I could accept certain parameters for our life without concerns about needing to change them soon, and I could (selfishly) turn some part of my focus back onto myself and my own trajectory. 

Because it's what I do when mulling something over, I went out and read books about only children, to see whether they changed my feelings; but again, those only reinforced my intuition that this was the right path.  The more time that passes, the more right it feels.  No one's doing anything permanent right now in this regard, but I am taking our small-baby stuff to storage or loaning it to friends, and I feel a huge weight lifting off me as I pack those things away. 

Unlike so many decisions I've made in my life, where I've hemmed and hawed and second-guessed myself, this one feels really right for me.  I had been stressing a lot about the myriad ways in which another child would affect our life -- I mean, I KNOW all the positives about babies and siblings and everything else, but for me I had a LOT of worries about adding to our family, including concerns about my own capacity to cope with two small children. 

And let it be said that these thoughts are personal ONLY TO ME.  I continue to be thrilled to pieces for my friends who are having additional children (and lemme tell you, there are a LOT of them).  I also continue to feel secure that this is exactly where I need to be and that we're on the exact right path for us -- the three of us together, walking side by side, right where we belong. 

Ninety-Five (!)

If I were asked to imagine what a 95-year-old would look like, I would probably conjure a mental image of a hunched, wobbly person leaning on a cane and squinting crossly at the world.  Most people, I don't think, would look at my grandfather and think he's five years shy of hitting 100.  I can hardly believe it myself. 

He's tall, strong as a bear, and has the legs of a man half his age.  His three-part daily exercise regime puts my own slothful, occasional jogs in the park to shame (he walks, climbs stairs, and rides a bike every morning at dawn).  And, as is almost certainly the key to his longevity, he has a positive, generous, uncynical outlook on life -- he values family above all, has many friends and an extensive social network, is very involved in his community, tackles complicated projects on a regular basis, and has a great sense of humor.  He also never skips dessert (a philosophy I wholeheartedly support).

Felicity and I went down to Florida this past Thursday through Sunday to celebrate my Granddad/her Great-Granddad's 95th birthday along with my parents, aunt, and cousin (there are lots more of us scattered about the country, but we were the hardy few who could make it on this occasion).  Our travel got off to a rough start when Felicity spectacularly vomited all over herself and her carseat in the cab on the way to Laguardia, so upon arrival at the airport I had to strip her down in the terminal, change her clothes, and clean the carseat with baby wipes as best I could (what I really needed was a hose, but you work with what you've got).  Then, during our lengthy flight delay, she managed to dump yogurt all over herself.  So we reeked of puke and fermented milk, and then she kicked the seat in front of her for the duration of the 2.5 hour flight.  We are charming travel-mates.

(I now know that there is no way, short of double amputation (or, uh, turning the carseat around to face the rear, which I had the sense to do on the flight home -- she is rear-facing in the car, but I had thought forward would be better on the plane...THIS WAS NOT SO), to stop a toddler from kicking a seat on an airplane; I tried everything I could, finally hissing, "STOP IT" right in her face, which only made her dissolve into hysterical tears and woeful screams, which were worse for my fellow passengers than the kicking that victimized just the one person.  The guy in front of her was nice enough not to whip around and give us dirty looks every three seconds, as I probably would have, at least in my pre-toddler-having days; but I was still embarrassed and felt badly about it.)

 It was a difficult travel day, but we emerged from the terminal into my parents' welcoming embrace (and their offering of extra baby wipes and plastic bags), and the situation improved exponentially from there.  During our visit, we got to spend lots of quality time with the family; attended a potluck with the man of the hour at his subdivision's clubhouse; visited a kickass playground with a sand volleyball court that we sold to Felicity as "the beach"; went to the actual beach and stood in the warm Gulf waters; and played with the (thankfully absent) neighbor's lawn ornaments.

Felicity, of course, charmed everyone she met with her running commentary on everything she sees and her parroting of everything we say.  (In the car one day, we passed a strip mall and I said, "Oooh, Applebee's" (sometimes life just calls for a chain restaurant, after all), and Felicity said, "Ooooooooooh, Applebee's!" with great enthusiasm -- you can't pay for this stuff!))  She warmed right up to everyone this time, and even gave my parents some coveted "I love yous."  She missed her Daddy (who had to stay home to work and nurse a terrible cold), but she also felt secure enough on this trip to nap and go to bed without a peep (her mother, on the other hand...  I really do not do well sleeping in quiet houses, let's just say, but it's worse when I'm in bed alone).

Coming home was less eventful (or at least there were less bodily fluids involved, praise be).  It did take an awfully long time to get home from the airport because of the marathon, and by then Felicity was so DONE.  Still, she held it together despite it being the day of the time change AND hour six of being strapped into a damn carseat.  She really is a good traveler, and even though it's a lot of work to entertain a small kid during a long travel day, I had so much fun with her on our little vacation.

She hasn't stopped talking about her Grammie and Granddad since we got home, and occasionally out of the blue she says, "Happy birthday, Great Granddad!" just like I taught her. 

And to All a Spooky Night

When I was a kid, my mom always spent ages painstakingly crafting and sewing my costumes for Halloween.  I was never the most creative at coming up with costume ideas, but they were certainly executed well -- over the years, I dressed up as a clown, a bunny, a unicorn (!), a ghost pioneer (DO NOT JUDGE), and, uh, Jon Bon Jovi. Trick-or-treating was always fun, of course, even when I ended up with a bunch of Bit O' Honeys and Bazooka gum and my parents confiscated all the homemade goodies.

I have no recollection of what I did for Halloween during college, but I am fairly certain it involved standing around in a dim room holding a red Solo cup of flat beer and pretending that that in some way resembled a good time.  Then in my mid-20s, there were the requisite schoolgirl costumes and the attempts at seeing the Village Halloween parade without being crushed to death by crowds in various states of undress.  And then after I was married, Halloween became a good excuse for curling up on the couch to watch "Night of the Living Dead" while hoovering snack-size Butterfingers and candy corn pumpkins.  It was never a bad holiday -- just a bit of a non-entity there for a while.

But now, with a sentient, mobile child, the fun of Halloween has come flooding back. 

I have now gotten to dress her as a ballerina for two years running (hey, as long as I am still in charge, she is WEARING A TUTU, OKAY?) -- unoriginal, yes, but who can argue with the results?

(She liked the way the tutu moved when she walked -- "bounce! bounce! ballerina!")

This year, I got to see the thrill of all the decorations ("ghost!  pumpkin!  SPOOKY HOUSE!") through her widened eyes, and to experience the fun of a closed-off street packed with kids and parents -- to say nothing of  the thrill of free-for-the-taking candy (and wine for the adults!) -- as she took it all in. 

Felicity, by the way, was undaunted by the mobs of people, the costumes (including one VERY scary clown that made me recoil in horror), the fog machines, the hands clawing their way out of gardens.  She also had said "trick or treat!" all day, but under pressure as she approached the first house, she clammed up and simply said, "Candy in there!" while holding up her treat bag.  Later on, she realized the error of her ways and called, "Say 'trick or treat'!" while standing a safe distance from the candy-distributor.

She also offered to share her haul with Fighter Pilot Henry, before he went tearing off down the street -- we're still not sure if he was in pursuit of his own treats or whether he had a mission to fly, but we hope to get them together again soon.

It's a pretty low-stress holiday, as these things go, and we all had a blast.  I am never going to be the mom who fashions her child's own costume (and I am fine with that), and the extent of my Halloween decor consists of one poorly carved pumpkin (with a smaller sidekick gourd that had to be trashed due to mold before the holiday arrived).  The buildings on our street go all-out with decor (with a sidewalk "haunted house" to boot), so there's no pressure to deck out our apartment -- it's not that I am a Scrooge about holiday decorations; it's just that I never think of these things until it's too late, and then I feel like I'd rather take a nap than try to come up with something cute to put on our door or fashion a cool centerpiece.  (I think this definitely falls into the G.E. category for me -- I love seeing other people's houses look all done up, but I never seem to find the wherewithal in myself to make it happen.) 

(Somehow, even a sad attempt at pumpkin carving looks pretty cool when glowing from within.)

And at the end of the evening, there is CANDY to paw through and pilfer to my heart's content.  Felicity does not know what candy is (evidently, comprehension is not required to create excitement about something), and we don't plan to give her any just yet.  We'll see how long we can stretch that out. Until then, those Nerds and Whoppers are MINE, BABY!

Excuse me?