Your Brain Fell Out Back There

The evening started out fine. Costumes were on, pictures taken, cider in hand, coats zipped, and my sister-in-law, Ali, had voluntarily offered to walk with me for trick-or-treating. Little did she know what she about to witness.

Somewhere between house 7 and 9, Zoe decided to make T-or-T'n a competitive, full contact sport. She yelled at Charlie for walking too slow, too fast, crushing too many blades of grass, putting his foot on the doorstep first, ringing the doorbell, knocking on the door wrong, leaving the doorstep first and breathing too much oxygen. She would run in front of him to cut off his path and shove him out of the way while shrieking his name. There were a couple times when I thought he was going to take her crowbar and club her over the head with it, but like a good big brother, he refrained from using violence on his little sister. Plus, he probably figured I'd eventually take care of that for him.

It got to the point where she was criticizing the neighbors for their candy choices. "You think I want Skittles? No, I want chocolate." Apparently hauling around a bag of candy that is a fourth of your body weight while navigating suburban landscaping in the dark makes a person really, really cranky and makes them talk nonsense.

"I am done trick or treating. I want to go home. But I want to go trick or treating soon. So can I go soon? Can I? Here, carry my bag. No, GIVE ME MY BAG! Don't take my bag! I want to go soon!"

I said "it seems to me that the reason a person would walk around in the dark wearing a fireman costume is because it's Halloween. I'm pretty sure you're trick-or-treating now. Not soon."

"Well how about tomorrow. Can I do this again tomorrow? I'm done right now. I'm going home, so that I can go soon."

Seriously, what the hell.

I informed her that "if you go trick-or-treating tomorrow, all you get is salad fixin's. So you need to either stumble through the neighborhood now, or go home and be done."

This escalated into screaming, crying, flailing arms, stomping off, and more indecipherable chants. Ali stood there, wondering what had suddenly possessed her little niece and I was instantly grateful for putting that extra shot of Captain in my cider.

At some point, Zoe realized that every neighbor was outside and able to witness the mayhem. This helped her compose herself enough to walk home, where the crisis continued. Doug was a little calmer and a lot more patient (since he had been at home drinking beer with my brother this whole time), and he knows that when she's hungry, her rationality is the first thing to shut down. So after the suggestion of "give her some pizza," her personality returned, and we watched Damian fly out the window.

Last night, when I was getting her to bed, she stood there brushing her teeth and said "Man, I was so naughty on Halloween! Why was I so naughty? I cried and screamed so much! And now it's over!" I reminded her that it was only 364 sleeps until she can do it all over again. This seemed to cheer her up, and it may just be enough time for me to recover.

They Didn't Say Anything About a Crowbar

Zoe came home from kindergarten today with an assortment of paperwork; a worksheet emphasizing the letter T, a notice that a child in the classroom has flu-like symptoms, and a newsletter with information about the upcoming Halloween parade.

The Halloween parade consists of all the kids in the elementary school putting their costumes on and walking through the halls, where parents are crammed in with cameras, waiting for that 2.3 second window when they can catch a blurry shot of little Frankenstein or Princess Jasmine sprinting by. Or, in more recent years, Pimp Daddy or Hooker Harriet.

The newsletter is very specific about what is allowed and what you should leave at home. No masks, face paint, hair dye, fake blood, S&M accessories, guns, knives, grenades, machetes, throwing stars, swords, rabid animals, or anything that would be considered religiously or racially offensive. There goes my idea to dress Charlie as a pregnant nun.

I know that there is a zero tolerance policy when it comes to violence in the school, and obviously anyone with a brain knows that a kid should leave weapons at home, but wouldn't it be nice if the policies were a little looser for Halloween, as long as the accessory is clearly made of plastic and necessary for the costume? Any kid that is weird enough to voluntarily dress up as a policeman knows that a cop carries a Glock 17. He doesn't catch the bad guy by bludgeoning him with a breadstick and then giving him a good talking to.

I used to be really motivated to keep all toy weapons away from my boys. I thought they were unnecessary and that they would never miss what they never had. We were going to be a weapons-free household! But after Charlie, at 2 years old, nibbled a graham cracker into the shape of a gun and started shooting his brother with it, I realized I was being unrealistic. Now we have a "weapons drawer" in the playroom, a "weapons basket" in the garage, and yet my boys still haven't shown any desire to harm small animals or rob banks. Plus, watching graham cracker crumbs shower the floor gives me way more anxiety than watching Charlie pelt his brother in the head with Nerf gun darts.

A girlfriend of mine has a kindergartner who has been busted a few times for head-butting his classmates. Is my friend a good parent? Absolutely. Is her husband a champion UFC fighter who is teaching his son some really cool moves? Not to my knowledge. Does this kid head-butt because he plays with swords and guns at home? No. He head-butted Little Travis because he was using a creative way to get his point across, and honestly, Little Travis probably had it coming because you can only steal someone's crayons so many times before you have to deal with the repercussions.

Zoe wore a pirate costume to school a few days ago to celebrate the letter "P", and the first thing she said was "Cool! Where's my sword?" For the Halloween parade she'll be wearing her fireman costume, and although she won't be bringing her ax to school, she's going to be really pissed off if someone takes away her crowbar.