Trick-or-Treating 101, Intervention, & Shopping Horrors

Helpful hints for being “the good house” on Halloween.

If you don’t know what constitutes a “good house” on Halloween, chances are your house is not good.

Good houses give out dollar bills, 1-pound Hershey bars, 3 handfuls of candy (instead of 3 pieces), or name brand candy like Reese’s, Snickers, M&M, and Kit Kat.

Bad houses give out dimes, off-brand flavored tootsie rolls, 1 Werther’s, or religious tracts. 

Don’t be the bad house.

Someone help me. I am begging for an intervention.

Put me in front of materials that can be shaped into facial hair and I’ll spend the next hour making myself laugh and my son cry.

It’s becoming a problem.

Shopping Horrors

Leaving the house is no longer an easy task. I value sleep enough that, pre-Beckett, I had my getting ready time down to an art. Give me 35 minutes and I would give you a showered, dressed, and make-upped Sarah. Now, give me 35 minutes and I will give you one changed diaper and one brushed tooth.

To make things more complicated, Beckett really hates his car seat now. He’s a very curious child who constantly wants to see what’s going on around him. (I have no one to blame but myself on that one.)

A few weeks ago, our trip to Walmart went something like this:

Beckett screams to and through the store while I get all the groceries, stopping every few feet to answer 15 questions about him. (“Oh – he’s a little one. How old? How big when he was born? Is he breastfed? He sure is upset. How is he sleeping at night? Does he have colic? Is he hungry?” “Yes ma’am, I left the house without feeding him. I figured if he were hungry he’d grab something as we headed out the door.”)  I get to the self-checkout where a man is writing a check. A check. At the self-checkout. I realize I left my wallet in the car so I load everything back up to get my wallet and re-checkout. I get home only to find that I forgot one of the main ingredients for dinner. Repeat experience at Albertson’s.

So, lesson learned. Car seat = trauma for Beckett.

A few days later I was running in to Michael’s to get one item and I knew exactly where to find it. No need for a car seat, or a diaper bag. I grabbed only Beckett and my wallet.

What I didn’t anticipate was the 13-person deep checkout line. Beckett was at least happy not being constrained to his seat…until he spit up – projectile style. It would have been fine had:
a) he not managed to get it all over his face and body, inside my shoe, on my shoulder, and all over the floor beside us
b) I not forgotten the diaper bag with the burp cloth
c) I chosen a more absorbent shirt for myself that didn’t leave the chunks sitting on my shoulder for all to look at
d) the people in front and behind me in line not been simultaneously gagging on their disgust and calling CPS.

Ahhh, life.

Life can be very funny if we choose to laugh about it. So I propose that we chuckle away, my friends.

Speaking of chuckling…the picture below has had me giggling for several days now. Let us conclude with a laugh.