Halloween 2 - The Revenge of Peter

Peter was much more into the annual rite of disguised extortion than last year. Last year he couldn’t walk on his own, so he was at the mercy of his dad’s slow walk carrying him from house to house. This year Peter was self-propelled, and he took off on his own (well, as far as we let him). His costume this year was an ode to the finery of yesteryear, when polyester leisure suits adorned the men’s catwalks of Paris and Milan. And a wig. Yes, Peter was dressed as a disco dancing love muffin. The wig, though, wasn’t so much disco as it was funk, so we called him Bootsy for the day.

As I said, he took off on his own. Since it was rather chilly we had mittens on him, so he couldn’t grab the pumpkin bag that held his loot. He still held it, but hooked on his forearm like it was a purse. We soon came upon a house with an Obama sign out front, and he gladly posed next to it. He took us all around a big block, perkily going from house to house until it was time to get back inside and thaw.

He got many compliments on his fine accoutrements. He loved seeing the other kids in costumes. He had a whole lotta fun. It’s only unfortunate that it was as cold as it was, because underneath his costume he had 3 or 4 layers, and he wound up being on the stiff side. And with that stiffness, if you are a toddler who likes to pick up things that you find on a lawn, you are at risk of bending over stiffly to pick up a twig, and keeling over due to your lack of flexibility. Then you find yourself (stiffly) writhing on the grass, just like Randy in A Christmas Story. Minus the snow bank.

Well, the really nice thing about taking an almost 18-month-old kid out trick-or-treating is that they get into the process. Y’know, the process, as in going out in a costume with a bunch of other kids. As parents, Peter’s Mom and I get the payoff, a small haul of candy that I told Peter he could eat provided he could get the wrapper off (I am a cruel, cruel father - but hey, the offer still stands). Look, I love my boy, but if he gets sugared up I am not going to get any sleep for at least 36 hours. Peter is a real Popeye when he gets his spinach, so as Bluto-slash-Daddy, I gotta figure out a way to keep the spinach in the can, y’dig?

Anyway, Bootsy isn’t totally in the past yet. We have a party on Saturday where the whole family will (gulp) disco like disco never went the way of disco. Yeah. Disco. You know, it sounded so much better in an abstract way, and now I have to dress like I have actual Saturday Night Fever. Rockin’ Pneumonia? No, and a shot of Rhythm & Blues wouldn’t do me any good. One of these years we’ll have to do a Jolly Green Giant and Sprout combo. At least that isn’t as embarrassing.