My wife likes to make a special holiday meal. She's been doing this for the last few years. Last year, she made Navajo tacos for the pre-trick or treat meal. This year, she found a recipe on Pinterist for homemade macaroni and cheese cooked in a pumpkin.
When you dish it up, you're supposed to scrape the sides of the pumpkin to get chunks into your mac and cheese. It's supposed to make it even tastier, and I thought it did. It was pretty good. To go with the mac and cheese she bought butterscotch cream soda or, as they called it in the Harry Potter books, butter beer.
I went out trick or treating with the kids for a while tonight. Little dressed as a firefighter, and was unbelievably cute, as usual. His energy was boundless, and I loved to watch him run from house to house. Luckily for me, he had to stop at each place, so I was able to catch up before he left me in the dust. He was also very chatty everywhere he went. He talked to people about their decorations, their candy, the accessories that his costume had, and what feats of heroism he would achieve if he was a real firefighter.
At one house, he went up to get candy at the door. On the front porch, two older women were sitting on chairs talking while a man was handing out candy to the kids. Simon turned the nearest of the two old women, looked at her for a moment and said, "I think you are a witch."
I'm pretty sure she wasn't anything of the sort. Just an old woman in dark clothes. I grabbed Simon by the hand, said, "C'mon, Little, let's go to the next house," and hustled him out of there. It was, admittedly, dark, so he sort of has an excuse, but he's also just a kid, and clueless about social niceties.
Everywhere we went, Little got comments about his firefighter costume. I think there's a decent number of firefighters living in our neighborhood. At one house, the woman complimented him on his outfit, then pointed to the skull decoration on their porch bench. It was wearing a real fireman's hat. "We love firefighter's here," she said.
Then, down the street, a car stopped, the window rolled down, and the man driving it said, "Hey, I love your turnouts."
I was completely confused. "You...love...what?"
"Your turnouts. The firefighter costume," he said, "It's great."
"Oh," now I got it, I'd never heard the word turnouts before, but I know what a costume is at least. "Little, he likes your costume. Can you say thank you?"
When I got home, I looked it up on the internet, and discovered that they call them turnouts because they would leave the clothes turned partially inside out to make putting them on even quicker. At least I think so, other places say that's what you wear when you turn out for a fire, but that doesn't seem right to me. Anyhow, the firefighter outfit was a big hit around town.
Once all the kids got home, we did our annual tradition of weighing all their candy to see who scored the most. My younger daughter expected to lose, because she'd found it much more fun to hand out candy at home than to trick or treat in pursuit of it. Even when she was out with me, half of the houses she didn't go up to, preferring to act like a parent and watch from the sidewalk. She came in last with 2.222 lbs.
My older daughter was pretty confident that she would win, especially considering someone gave her a can of Sprite at one of the houses she visited. That's a lot of weight from one house. It'd probably take at least fifteen snack size chocolate bars to equal one can of soda. She weighed in with 3.832 lbs. of candy, trouncing my other daughter by almost double.
She was confident that she'd won the competition with that great weight, but when Little's candy hit the scale, he weighed in at 3.922, eking out a win by less than an ounce.
I went out trick or treating with the kids for a while tonight. Little dressed as a firefighter, and was unbelievably cute, as usual. His energy was boundless, and I loved to watch him run from house to house. Luckily for me, he had to stop at each place, so I was able to catch up before he left me in the dust. He was also very chatty everywhere he went. He talked to people about their decorations, their candy, the accessories that his costume had, and what feats of heroism he would achieve if he was a real firefighter.
At one house, he went up to get candy at the door. On the front porch, two older women were sitting on chairs talking while a man was handing out candy to the kids. Simon turned the nearest of the two old women, looked at her for a moment and said, "I think you are a witch."
I'm pretty sure she wasn't anything of the sort. Just an old woman in dark clothes. I grabbed Simon by the hand, said, "C'mon, Little, let's go to the next house," and hustled him out of there. It was, admittedly, dark, so he sort of has an excuse, but he's also just a kid, and clueless about social niceties.
Everywhere we went, Little got comments about his firefighter costume. I think there's a decent number of firefighters living in our neighborhood. At one house, the woman complimented him on his outfit, then pointed to the skull decoration on their porch bench. It was wearing a real fireman's hat. "We love firefighter's here," she said.
Then, down the street, a car stopped, the window rolled down, and the man driving it said, "Hey, I love your turnouts."
I was completely confused. "You...love...what?"
"Your turnouts. The firefighter costume," he said, "It's great."
"Oh," now I got it, I'd never heard the word turnouts before, but I know what a costume is at least. "Little, he likes your costume. Can you say thank you?"
When I got home, I looked it up on the internet, and discovered that they call them turnouts because they would leave the clothes turned partially inside out to make putting them on even quicker. At least I think so, other places say that's what you wear when you turn out for a fire, but that doesn't seem right to me. Anyhow, the firefighter outfit was a big hit around town.
Once all the kids got home, we did our annual tradition of weighing all their candy to see who scored the most. My younger daughter expected to lose, because she'd found it much more fun to hand out candy at home than to trick or treat in pursuit of it. Even when she was out with me, half of the houses she didn't go up to, preferring to act like a parent and watch from the sidewalk. She came in last with 2.222 lbs.
My older daughter was pretty confident that she would win, especially considering someone gave her a can of Sprite at one of the houses she visited. That's a lot of weight from one house. It'd probably take at least fifteen snack size chocolate bars to equal one can of soda. She weighed in with 3.832 lbs. of candy, trouncing my other daughter by almost double.
She was confident that she'd won the competition with that great weight, but when Little's candy hit the scale, he weighed in at 3.922, eking out a win by less than an ounce.
No comments:
Post a Comment