I remember the year I made the Boy a ghost costume out of long underwear and cheesecloth. And the year I made his scarecrow costume with newspaper stuffing and crinkly-paper straw. This year? 5:30 p.m. at the fly-by-night costume store and he's Harry Potter. And despite all my peer pressuring, he was accompanied by the Little Mermaid and her Gunky Red Hair That Is Not Really Red.
What I'm saying is, it was an excellent Halloween. The Boy ended up dividing all his candy into piles according to type, and then using them as a Lego obstacle course. The Girl put all hers in a plastic bag and then tried to hide behind the coffee table and eat them all.
Then they put about half the loot out for the Halloween Witch (who brought some nice erasers and so forth). And then I conked out on the Boy's bed after reading our chapter of Harry Potter.
Oh! OH! And get this! I was at the doctor's today, and they did the height/weight thing, and the nurse said, "Okay, 5'8 1/2," and I said, "Excuse me?" And she repeated my height, and I said, "Uh...no, I'm 5'7 1/2," and she said, "Want me to check it again?" and I said, "Yes, please" and guess what? I'm an inch taller than I thought I was. So, can I just say, how does that happen? How do I go my whole friggin' adult life thinking I'm an inch shorter than I actually am? I was ridiculously happy about it, for some reason. There's hope for me yet, as apparently I'm still growing.