Last night was a fairly traditional Halloween for us: a dinner of mummy dogs and chips followed by trick-or-treating and lots of candy eating. Although we opted to skip the scary movie and watched "Castle" instead. Savannah & I have grown to love that show!
For the last couple of years, my sweet, soft-spoken Savannah has taken to scary costumes. This year she was a blood-sucking zombie basketball player.
Sarah wanted to be Rapunzel, but, alas, we were unable to find the long, flowing hair for our fair maiden. She finally agreed to be a fairy princess.
Pace, still not quite able to communicate, had absolutely NO say in his costume.
Oops! I mean, maybe next year, little guy.
He went as the head coach of the Dallas Cowboys.
His costume turned out to be the hit of the evening, and all I did was add a headset to a Cowboys outfit already hanging in his closet. Touchdown!
But the event of the evening that really woke me up was at one of the last houses we visited. Pace and I were slowly making our way up the path when Savannah and Sarah raced by us.
“Trick or treat!” they both proclaimed.
Pace and I waddled up (I swear, Pace walks like an old penguin.) as Sarah received her candy. The lady looked up at me and said, “Where did your older one go?” I looked around to find Savannah standing on the sidewalk with her dad.
“Anyone who says trick-or-treat gets a piece of candy. Would you give her this?” the neighbor said placing a candy bar in my hand. I took it to Savannah and asked why she left.
“I’m just too old for this, Mom.”
And that was that.
I now have a kid that’s too old to trick-or-treat. Wait…I need to stretch out my creaky knees and put on my reading glasses. The words have suddenly grown blurry.
So the plan for next year is Savannah will stay home and pass out candy while the “kids” go trick-or-treating.
She’s growing up, folks, and I can’t stop it.