I could not have asked for a better Halloween.
The day was beautiful and sunny. After naptime we headed downtown to the Irvington Halloween Festival, where people clucked and smiled at our little chickens while we strolled and people-watched. We lined up with all the costumed families and joined in the costume parade. Henry and Eleanor got lots of attention despite the other, more elaborate costumes in attendance (think perfectly-made Futurama robot and toddler-sized garbage truck with working lights), which goes to show you the power of twins.
After the parade we headed to a Broad Ripple pub for some non-candy supper. We were all “score!” when we saw the sign near the door that said kids eat free on Halloween. Bonus! Henry and Eleanor spent the time waiting for our food first coloring and then repeatedly asking to give us hugs and kisses. Seriously. What toddlers do this? Isn’t it some Law of Two-Year-Olds that states that they must screech and throw their crayons and strive for the highest impatience/embarrassment-of-parents ratio they can achieve?
We came home, ate a treat from the end-of-parade goody bag, donned the chicken suits again and hit the streets for some trick-or-treating. Andy and I decided to forgo the wagon and let Henry and Eleanor walk, and they did great, marching up the driveways to knock on the neighbors’ doors. We had to feed them their lines, but they both (even shy Eleanor) said “trick or treat!” then thanked the candy-giver and wished them a happy Halloween. After we hit up our neighbors for candy we finished the night at my cousin Marcy’s house, getting candy from her and cousin Dustin, and chasing around Taylor the dog, who was very obediently wearing her shark costume. Home for Halloween jammies, one more piece of candy, and then two tired trick-or-treaters hit the sack, and two tired parents hit the sacks of leftover Snickers.
Highlights from the holiday:
Henry, pointing at the bones on his Halloween shirt: “Look, Mom! Dog treats!”
Despite the devil horns on my head, I was not a creature from the underworld. No, according to the two-year-olds in my family, I was “a cow” because I had horns. Perhaps an evil, evil cow, back to seek evil murderous cow revenge for the delicious burgers we ate at supper?
Henry, telling me that he had eggs in his pocket.
(He did not have eggs in his pocket. He was perhaps using Method acting in portraying his Halloween chicken.)
Henry and Eleanor calmly waving to all the onlookers at the parade. They’re such veterans at parades by now.
Two comments I received made me happy—assumptions that I had made the costumes myself. Which yes I did, if by “yes” you mean “yes I clicked a few times on Old Navy’s website and ‘made’ an order of two chicken costumes.”