â€œThis kind of blog just writes itself, doesnâ€™t it?â€ smirked Jon as he was sent back to the store for last minute sherbet.
It was the annual Mamaâ€™s Halloween party. Ten small peeps (between the ages of 4 months and 4 years) descended upon my house to join the muppets in creating complete and utter chaos. A dirty dozen in full disguise.
Normally Iâ€™d use the remainder of this blank white space to move the blinking cursor along â€“ regaling you with the hysterical encounters of superhero Spidermen and Disney cuties take on rawring dinosaurs. However, it was a surprisingly calm and uneventful adorable event. (Or every Mom was plied with the all important morning mimosa upon arrival, making childhood hurricanes appear adorable.
Well, and ours was the only Halloween haunting with a targeted helicopter flyover. You heard it here first folks, weâ€™re that cool. (And for peeps keeping score â€“ THAT is how you helicopter parent.)
We also practiced trick-or-treating. So advance apologies if my kiddos come charging into your house for snacks or ring the doorbell repeatedly, asking for more. (They pick up on the concept of â€œwe get treats for performing mommyâ€™s tricksâ€ right quick.)
Granted, said snacks did not lead to a bright naptime future. Once the masses were stuffed in their respective mom-mobiles so the now mimosa-missing mothers could beg and plead their respective offspring to nap. I made the executive decision to let the boys have â€œquiet timeâ€ if they werenâ€™t interested in sleep. (Theyâ€™ll learn.) By â€œquiet time,â€ I of course mean I shut them in their room with the child-safety door handle that they canâ€™t yet manipulate.
When I witnessed interplay involving the joining of forces to actually start moving furniture, naptime was over.
But this year, Halloween was going to be a weekend event! (I am aware that the actual occurrence of All Soulâ€™s Eve isnâ€™t for another week. This is not the point.)
We all slept in on Sunday. And by slept in I mean we woke up bright and early to head down to the Pumpkin Patch Park.
â€œIâ€™m stinky!â€ announced Destroy. (Oh goodie â€“ câ€™mere kid and let me change your diaper.) â€œNo!â€ he protested. â€œDaddy do it.â€ (I wonâ€™t lie. At that particular moment, Destroy was my favorite muppet.)
We headed down through the corn maze and past the great pumpkin pyramid (which is totally a lie, because itâ€™s a giant conical mound of dirt with precariously placed pumpkins, but we were told that was being a buzzkill and to shut up about the Great Pumpkin Pyramid) to Uesugi Farms.
In a picture perfect family memory in the making, the Stream family four was ready to ride some tractor-pulled haybales, traverse the patch on a choo-choo and pick out a nice orange pumpkin to join the familial daredevil gourds already squashed into our entryway.
It was then Search realized there were pony rides. RIDE THE PONYHORSE!
(To clarify, Search is also a huge fan of the equestrian center near my parents house, and both muppets love Lucky the Possessed Pony â€“ it is only mommy that is afraid of the demon equine that resides in my living room.)
Search grabbed my hand and beelined for the animals. COME. ON. Destroy was still slightly suspicious. But he went along with the program, albeit skeptically. As we approached, Destroy eyed the wild-ponies, eager to plod around in a circle three times, and commented, â€œMuppet horsies.â€
Thatâ€™s right! The PonyHorses are the perfect size for little muppets! My children are obviously brilliant. (I also now have Lyle Lovett stuck in my head due to â€œIf I Had a Boatâ€ pony pronunciation.)
Finally it was time to claim our pumpkins. (Being the entire point of our visit.) True to form, my dudes were not constrained by normal. And joining their cucurbita brethren on our porch is a smooshed green gourd.
Now I want pie. Whoâ€™s joining me?