The Crypt Keeper Five

Along with parenthood has come the need for favorites. Favorite colors, and numbers, and Wiggles, and monster trucks, and Strawberry Shortcake characters. And, of course, favorite holidays.

Paige loves holidays. She'll bound into our bedroom to awake us with cheers of "It's Martin Luther King Day!" or "I can't believe it's already Labor Day!" But Halloween, that's her number one holiday.

Curtis, on the other hand, is clearly rooted in his terrible, terrible threes and kind of hates everything. He spent all of last Halloween trying to get out of his costume, only to tell us that he wanted to wear the same fireman getup again this year.

So while Paige headed off to school to count down the minutes until she could come back and get in her costume, Curtis was at home trying to avoid the holiday all together.

I invited Traci and the boys to come to my work to trick or treat around the cubicles. A few minutes before they were to arrive, Traci called to tell me that Curtis was refusing to get in the car.

"Oh, just shove him in there, he'll like it when he gets here," I advised. (Fatherly wisdom.)

She did. And then she called me again from the parking lot. "Curtis is refusing to get out of the car."

Despite my efforts to coax him out with candy and the promise that he wouldn't have to speak to (or look at) anyone, he stood strong in his resistance. So Traci, Curtis, and Tate in his little skeleton onesy turned around and headed back home. 

The evening went a bit better. Curtis agreed to get in his costume (sans hat) for some trick or treat action.

Paige led the way, running from door to door and constantly being amazed by the amount of candy booty. But then things took a turn for the worst. Heading up to another door, she tripped on a step and came up with a pretty bad bloody lip.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" I asked.

Through hiccuping sobs she replied,"I'll...be...okay...[sob, sob]...Let's...keep...trick or treating."

So we carried on, Paige walking somberly but resolutely and Curtis needing to be piggy-backed for most of the night. (It's fun to have a sleepy 30-pounder on your shoulders, banging you in the head with a plastic pumpkin.) 

Another holiday survived.