kicking off the season

I let Jake out trick-or-treating last week around his aunt's block. He ran four feet ahead of me, never looked back once, learned quickly that people love it when babies say "trick tweat", and thanked everyone who gave him candy. If someone asked him if he would like candy, he said "noOOo!" and ran to the next house. He was allowed one sucker and some fruit snacks and the rest of the loot was dumped into the candy bowl back at the house and redistributed to the neighborhood kids after I stole a Clark bar. Those are the best. I don't know how Butterfinger ever gained the popular vote.

I didn't think Jake would be 100% in love with his costume, but he wore it like a champ for almost five hours, hood on. You could host a chicken fight on that child if you stood around him and told him he looked cute under all the flapping and feathers and squawking and pecking and death. "I cute" is one of Jake's favorite things to tell you when you are looking at pictures of him.

Dave and I went to the best-decorated Halloween party ever last Friday night. Spiderwebs and candles and black mums and spiders and apothecary jars full of eyeballs and candy corn all outdoors in Frank and Hope's courtyard in Rittenhouse. Hope was even smart enough to rent one of those propane heaters. Dave went as Father Guido Sarducci and I dressed up like your grandmother, complete with curlers and a hairpiece and saggy kneehighs under my slippersocks and slippers and pockets full of gross candy, pennies, arthritis meds, Vaseline, Fingerhut magazines, old photos from the fifties, the South Philly Review Social Scene, and other junk. I was awesome. And now I have a house dress that I'll never use again, just in case you need it let me know.

Jake is horribly distressed that there aren't bones and witches and "scawecwows" all over the neighborhood, but I think he'll change his tune pretty quickly when people start putting up the Christmas junk. Which should be any day now. I think there is some sort of ordinance in my town that says that it should be all up by Election Day.

We are firming up the richkid plans for Thanksgiving that we happened to stumble on to. Last year was the cutest damned Thanksgiving ever, but this year should be nice and relaxing and we may even get to wear shorts. Fingers crossed.

Christmas is never crazy at our house, we make sure of that. We are hosting the big party on the fifteenth, then we'll do some family stuff on the Eve, and Christmas morning is spent eating cookies and opening presents. We take in holiday refugees who can't stomach spending any more time with their loved ones in the afternoon. Chinese food, football, movies, cookies, and lots and lots of booze to drown out the Ghosts of Christmas Past will be made available to those in need. It's really a great day and there is never any pressure to do anything or be nice to anyone. Tell your mom that you are going to your mother-in-law's house. Tell your mother-in-law that you are going to your mom's house. But instead of all that, just come over to my house. Don't have any in-laws? Just tell your mom that you will be volunteering your time in as a gift to mankind. There is no better day to lie to your family than Christmas Day. You've already got all your presents for the year, and Santa takes the day off from seeing you when you are sleeping and awake and knowing if you are bad or good.

Genius.