Stop me if you’ve heard this one.
So a caped fellow takes his dog into a bar…
Especially the underage ones.
Sometimes, though, dogs don’t really enjoy Halloween. I doubt that it has anything to do with the fact that… oh!... our little brown puppy DIDN’T NAP on Thursday.
Thing 2 also hated, loathed, despised and detested his costume, and he took full advantage of every single opportunity he found to express his dislike. Oh, he enjoyed the costume FULLY when it was hanging on a hanger on his bedroom doorknob this week. He’d walk by it a hundred times a day, give it a good pat, and yell, “Woof!”
However, the actual DONNING OF THE COSTUME was met by more opposition than the average toddler can give out. It was exactly like Ralphie, when he had to wiggle into the pink bunny costume on Christmas morning.
And then we took the boys to trick-or-treat at Mam and Pa’s house, and Grammy and Papa’s office. Those two stops alone filled up over half of their treat buckets, because grandmas believe in the power of a chocolate bar to win hearts. Willie Wonka’s guests at the factory never had it that good.
Thing 2 was IMMEDIATELY in full understanding that his orange, light-up pumpkin bucket (which began as the boy’s bucket when he was a year old, and has been used EVERY! SINGLE! Halloween since then) would be filled with candy.
Thing 2 LIKES candy.
And he never could quite figure out WHY the adults in his life kept saying, “That’s enough chocolate for now!” Of course that statement turned our cute puppy into a raging pit bull in an arena, because HE WANTED TO EAT ALL OF THE CANDY NOW!
Did I mention? NO NAP?
Mam did entice him with a banana, though…
About this time was when Thing 2 just decided to lay down on somebody’s driveway and call the time of death on trick-or-treating. He was done and spent, and he wanted to be rocked to sleep.
Which is why… for the first time in his entire life… Hubs and I abandoned the boy on Halloween night. We threw him to Enzo. Those two met up with a few more boys, and together the Wolf Pack roamed the streets, knocking on doors and collecting chocolate and Smarties and hard-as-rock Tootsie Rolls, which Mama threw away.
And then, the night dished out an enormous surprise, because the boy called me at 7:45 and said, “Mom? We’ve been invited by some high schoolers to go to a party at one of their houses. The thing is, Enzo and I don’t know any of them.”
And this is where the party scene from Sixteen Candles filled my mind, and I was all, “Are you kidding me??! You’re a SEVENTH GRADER!” I was fully set to launch into a lecture on how OVER MY DEAD BODY and ABSOLUTELY NOT.
That’s when the boy lowered his voice and said, “Mom? Yeah… Enzo and I don’t even want to go to this party. We don’t know these high schoolers. A high school party doesn’t even sound fun because everyone is so old, so we were wondering if I could just hang out at Enzo’s house for a while?”
Everyone. Is. So. Old.
Remember when you were a teenager, and you thought your forty-something-year-old parents were DOWNRIGHT ELDERLY?
I want to take back all of those thoughts now.
So the evening panned out alright. I learned that my precious little thirteen-year-old thinks that high schoolers probably throw the most boring parties in the world. You know, since they’re all so old and all. They probably have a nice Metamucil punch with some dry ice, and sit around, playing shuffleboard and bingo, listening to The Temptations and Roy Orbison.
Let’s just keep it that way.
So that was Halloween.
The rest of our weekend was a blur of dinner at Grammy’s house with all the cousins… the boy spending the night with Cousin B at Grammy’s house… getting four trillion leaves up off of our yard like responsible home owners do… sending the boy off to the movie with Enzo… following that with a sleepover at Enzo’s house… sitting with Hubs while he watched the Colorado Avalanche retire Adam Foote’s jersey… reminiscing about how we ALMOST named the boy “Adam,” because of Adam Foote… and how we almost used my grandpa’s name of Roy as a middle name… and how I would have called him Roy, but Hubs vowed to pronounce it as “WAH,” exactly like Patrick Roy, the best goalie that the NHL has ever seen (according to Hubs)… and church… and a downed computer server that Hubs had to fix today at work, because computers love to break on weekends… and homemade soup… and a toddler who was so exhausted from Halloween and the time change, that he spent the better part of the weekend whining.
Exactly like a good puppy would do.
Y’all have a happy Sunday evening.