We have a Halloween tradition in our family. It’s all hands on deck and full parental participation for the night.
Our kids look forward to it all year long. My son thinks of trick-or-treating as a highly classified reconnaissance mission to rid our entire town of candy. He hits up every house and every business.
You sell screwdrivers?
He does not care. I hope you have a bowl of candy alongside the screws.
The kind library lady gets a visit, along with CVS, the local dollar store and drug store.
Every year a rumor circulates that a man on the looooong street running through the center of town is giving away full size candy bars. I never got one, but FringeBoy did. Of course.
If the United States Army gave out full size Hershey’s bars for special ops missions, FringeBoy would enlist.
He worked for the money to buy the fabric.
He cut out the pieces without a pattern, and he sewed every bit of his outfit – the gloves, hat, boots, tunic – everything.
Because we do not have a sewing machine, he got special permission to use the school’s machines during his study hall.
I am very proud he not only followed through with his plan, but he has the guts to walk around town in a green dress and tights. Kudos to him for guts.
Most years FringeMan and I dress up.
My kids love coming home from school and seeing my face painted. If I pass their harsh Halloween inspection, I know I have done well.
FringeMan dresses up because he enjoys scaring kids. Plain and simple.
He feels like it is the only day of the year he can get even with the short people who wait for the school bus in our driveway, although he does feel bad about making the little lady bug cry. Really.
After the door knocking is done, we settle into our couches, only half in costume, and eat too much candy. Usually a 1950’s horror film plays in the background. The movie is secondary to the sugar, but is necessary for the full fright fun.
We all sleep uneasy, because our insulin levels register in the Milky Way.
My kids think school should have an hour delay on November first, just an hour.
I tend to agree.
Linking to What’s the Word Bird? with the Glamorous Housewife.