I feel like a broken record when I admit that Halloween got the best of me because it seems to have the ability to sneak right up on me every year. I start thinking about it early enough to assure myself I have plenty of time and before-I-know-it I’ve done nothing. This year, perhaps, being the worst yet. As in we never even made it to the pumpkin patch. The un-carved pumpkins outside our door are from Vons, for goodness sake.
Though in my defense, both boys decided early on that they wanted to be cowboys and, well, for Hooper it’s the third year in a row he’s opted to be a cowboy (last year, the year before). The third year in a row, mind you, of wearing the same exact cowboy boots that my mother-in-law thankfully must have bought a few sizes up some years ago. And Van, well, he ultimately wanted to be whatever Hooper wanted to be.
The week before Halloween I found myself sifting through their closet to see how I could pull two cowboy costumes out of one. Hooper got the chaps, Van got the vest. Van got the hat, Hooper got the bolo tie and the straw sheriffs hat that my mom happened to have. My sweet friend Shella, from Sweet Threads, came through by sending me the vintage plaid button up Van’s wearing. One pair of cowboy boots resulted in quite a few tantrums until we took a trip over to payless shoes and invested in a second pair. And that was that.
We opted to go trick-or-treating a mile or so from our home down a street that’s notorious for their Halloween festivities; quite the change from last year when we still considered ourselves new-to-the-area and settled for being the lone rangers collecting handfuls of candy from neighbors who were eagerly awaiting trick-or-treaters but got very few. And still I think we came home with more candy last year, from fewer homes, simply based on the fact that the street we went to this year was so jammed backed with lines-out-the-doors trick-or-treaters that the actual handouts were quite small in comparison to the generous handfuls that characterized last Halloween. And yet, the boys know no difference, had no complaints. Less candy for Willy and I to steal, I suppose.
I’m not sure the infamous cowboy costume will survive yet another year, with pieces falling off due not to poor quality but instead to rowdy boys who have insisted on wearing their costumes for several days in a row. Time will tell. But next year I’m determined to carve those damn pumpkins.
