Crazy Heart Mama

I don’t remember being this exhausted the day after Halloween last year. If it was on a Sunday, then we would’ve had to get up and go to work on Monday, right? Unless…

…Leap Year?

And after checking my calendar, I realized we did have a Leap Year, which means that we had all day Sunday to convalesce last year.

Last night, we had our Halloween Party. I was going to go as my usual–a witch–but Rowan said I should be a scary witch. So after I finished with my makeup, I didn’t really have time to get dressed in my witch costume because people had started arriving and I hadn’t even made the cornbread muffins for the homemade turkey chili, so I had to just go with it.

Rowan deemed me “scary enough,” and that’s all that mattered.

Colman had fun handing out candy as you can tell from the picture below. (No, I don’t know those people. They just knocked on the door wanting candy. Even the grown woman, but who am I to judge?)

Then we took our little trick-or-treaters out for a spin around the neighborhood.

Facebook suggested tagging the skeleton as Kevin, which we all thought was hilarious. Rowan is dressed up as Luigi on the far right. He had concerns that his costume wasn’t totally on fleek because Luigi actually wears overalls. Then I mentioned my concern, which was, “Just how do you think you’ll be able to go the bathroom in overalls? Plus, overalls have buttons.”

And buttons, my friends, are so much worse than anything Rowan can imagine EVER! If you want to see that child absolutely positively miserable, just put him in a shirt or a pair of shorts that has a button. Even if it’s on the pocket. He will wail. He will cry. He will fall down and pound the ground with his little fists. It’s truly a sight to see. Stretchy pants and t-shirts. That’s what he wears, and I fear he might be pigeon-holing himself into becoming a high school coach or the next CEO of Facebook, but whatever. I’m sure he’ll be fine.

The party started winding down early because school night. However, our night was just getting started. I washed all that makeup off my face and debated whether I could actually get away with four-day hair. I hate washing my hair, but I finally decided that there might not be enough dry shampoo in the world to pull off that level of dirty hair. Plus the white makeup was making it look like my roots were all gray, and my vanity won out. So I jumped in the shower and washed it. Then I dried it, which takes a sweet forever.

When I finished up, I heard Rowan whimpering about 11 o’clock so I figured he was having a bad dream. Probably from all the candy. I crawled into his bed to lie down with him for a bit. While I was patting him, he started smacking his lips and that should’ve been my first clue. I even thought to myself, God, I hope he doesn’t throw up. And then he threw up all over me, my clean hair, himself and his bedding.

You’d think with Rowan being my third kid, I’d have all the warning signs down. I might be a slow learner. We got him all cleaned up. I changed his bedding. Then he said he felt much better and I went to rewash bits and pieces of my hair.

As I was getting ready to climb into my bed around midnight, he barfed again. All over his fresh bedding, himself and–when I got in there to help him to the bathroom–me. It was all as delightful as it sounds. Thankfully, he missed my hair the last time.

Kevin came in to check on us and asked Rowan, “What did you eat?”

I’ve probably told Kevin a hundred times that when you’re puking, you don’t want to think about what you ate that made you sick, even though your mind usually goes there on its own. There’s no real benefit to talking through what food the puker might have ingested while said person is puking.

Please tell me I’m not alone in this?

When Rowan didn’t answer, Kevin said, “You must’ve eaten too much candy.”

And Rowan yelled back, “I only had one candy!”

That made me pause for a bit because I was in the process of wiping puke off my face, and I freaked for a millisecond thinking this was a stomach virus. With the level of contamination I’d undergone, there would be no avoiding it. That must be what people who’ve been exposed to Ebola feel like.

But one piece of candy on Halloween? It doesn’t pass the giggle test.

You can’t really say it’s been a successful Halloween until somebody pukes. I just wish it hadn’t been my little somebody. And seven loads of laundry? I know you’re all green with envy.