The year I dressed up for Halloween as Snow White Sister #2 was Wonder Woman. Our costumes were just like the ones pictured above. Because we were Minnesota kids those costumes were worn over our winter coats and a fine frost formed inside those masks due to the condensation of our breath.

We had a lot of costumes like these plastic ones, usually purchased October 30th at Snyder’s when the pickin’s were extra slim. I have zero memory of what other characters we dressed up as on other years. I just remember the Snow White/Wonder Woman year because that year we didn’t get to go trick or treating because rumor had it the candy that year was full of razor blades and maybe poisonous Tylenol.

I have no idea what Sisters #3 & #4 were up to that Halloween. I think they were too little to really matter to this 1982 story. Obviously they were not emotionally scarred so much by not getting to trick or treat that year that they’re still bitter after all these years (36!).

Because 1982 not only did we not get to go trick or treating my parents made us hand out pennies. PENNIES! I’m still so embarrassed I want to die.

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Last night, before trick or treating, I explained to my mom and my sisters how I think about Luke and his boys about every four minutes, my brain has prioritized it above mom’s cancer because at least I know where she’s sleeping tonight. I had no idea such simple information could be so comforting.

I’ve spent much of the past week letting anxiety over take my life. How do I deal with anxiety? I do all the brainless things I can think of to not think. It’s a lot harder than it looks and involves many, many reruns of “Family Ties.” Also, developing a Cut the Rope addiction helps.

But, like most everything I do, I’ve grown bored with constant anxiety. Does that mean I’ve stopped with the constant wishing/hoping (remind me to tell you about the praying/hoping/speaking to the universe semantics argument I had with myself the other night) for Luke’s safe return? No. Does that mean I’m not a little nervous for Mom’s surgery tomorrow? Nope.

So in an attempt to get back to life (back to reality, back to the here and now) I celebrated Halloween by dressing up as Ramona Flowers. Sadly, I forgot to have someone take my picture holding the +2 Against Girls Hammer.

My hair looked a little something like this (and according to Nolan it’s pretty purpley blue and red):

Liam dressed up as Mario was so cute I wanted to squish him all night long:

And here is the rest of the crew which includes: Clyde, a PETA activist, a Storm Trooper (who I incorrectly called R2D2 and was promptly schooled by a Tibble), some sort of Zombie Doctor, a Fairy Princess, Mario, and what Nolan dubbed the Crypt Keeper.

How have you been?

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The Tibbles were obsessed with the “Scary Gum.” This was made all the more amusing by the fact that Liam cannot say “scary gum” without holding his hands up to his chin and shaking his hands while trying to say scary which always comes out as either shitty or share-dy.

They spent an inordinate amount of time looking at and discussing the scary gum.
“Oh look,” Nolan said. “You can see the blood leaking out of this one.” (the vampire shaped gumball is filled with some sort of blood-like sugary syrup)
“Ohhh sharedy,” Liam said, shaking his hands feigning fright.
“Hey,” I said. “The green ones are filled with slime.”
Nolan sighed. “I love slime.”
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We made puppets. Rather I made puppets while Nolan art directed (Liam was at speech class). I am convinced that good old paper and crayons are the best toys you can give a kid no matter how much they scream “me want that, me want that” whenever a commercial for Spike the robotic dinosaur comes on TV (However, me do want that. But I’m a grownup and can appreciate the awesomeness of a robotic dinosaur).
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Over our “fancy” lunch (made so by putting ice cubes in the lemonade), Nolan and I argued. We argue a lot, because I think it’s fun to mess with four-year-old logic. Usually I am the only one amused by the arguments, and that’s all right by me.

“Superman stinks,” Nolan said between bites of salad dripping with French dressing.
“No he doesn’t,” I said.
“Yes he does!” He stabbed at the green peppers.
“Superman’s a great guy, a writer.”
“Batman has a plane,” Nolan said.
“So. Batman voted for Bush in 2000.”
“He did not!” All lunch had been abandoned at this point.
“Yes. He’s a Republican.”
“DON’T SAY THAT!” He whined. “Superman’s a publican.”
“Nope, Supes is part of the liberal media and Batman’s a CEO of a multi-national corporation that probably doesn’t pay its workers very well.”
Nolan bent and sipped at his lemonade from a pink bendy straw. He looked up at me as if he were considering what I had just said and was trying to come up with a logical, reasonable response. “Well,” he said and sighed. “Batman can jump really high and Superman stinks because he never showers.”

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