My house looks like a Halloween hurricane blew through it.
I found out around 11 this morning that about 10 eighth-grade boys would be meeting at our house to begin the candy quest.
Then the twins ransacked nearly every drawer and closet in their attempts to put together a "costume," which to them means "hat."
Over the years we've collected two giant Rubbermaid bins full of costume parts, many of which were part of my work wardrobe in the '80s.
After trying on and rejecting most everything they'd pulled out, Henry wore a $10 vampire cape over basketball clothes and Mason wore an old lampshade from the attic on his head. He was a lamp. See what he did there?
Owen, on the other hand, had pointed out which costume he wanted when the Costume Express catalog arrived two months ago: the SWAT officer.
The costume sat waiting for him in the dining room for three weeks.
I had a really weird moment later after I drove Owen to my parents' neighborhood for a visit. My dad walked around their subdivision with us, and for a minute I felt like an 8-year-old with him walking next to me.
As I watched Owen walk up to ring a doorbell and heard my dad saying, "Be careful on the steps," I literally felt like it was 1977 and I was the one carrying the candy bag.
Instead of heading home to dump out all the candy I'd collected in my pillow case, I had to drive my baby home and then drive around our darkened streets picking up all those eighth-graders who had walked too far to make it back on their own.
They only had a couple of minutes to admire their candy before bed. It is a school night after all.
Yep, Halloween sure looks different from a 42-year-old perspective.
When the kids get on the school bus, I'll be able to clean a little in the calm after the storm.
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