Halloween and Freedom

The afternoon of Halloween, we had to run to a couple stores. The kids wanted to wear their costumes. I had a purple and black witch hat and the kids asked if I could wear it to the store.

Why not? It's probably how they see me anyway. They're looking around "But Mom, where's your costume?"

Everyone was all smiles as we paraded through the stores. The kids were darn cute indeed. Especially Noah, in his soft racecar costume, weaving through the aisles. Lots of people grinned at me, wonderful parent I am - showing up in a witch's hat and making my children's holiday that much more special. 

It wasn't until I was loading Tali in her carseat after both errands had been run that I noticed the top 2 or 3 buttons on my blouse had come undone. 

I wasn't a witch - I was a slutty witch. I, who hate the degradation of women's costumes, had become one of them. 

Later that evening, we had soup and bread and went out trick-or-treating. 

Tali didn't really go trick-or-treating. I think it's such an obvious ploy for parents to get candy if their child is too young to understand what's happening. It's much better to have a child like Noah, who can walk up and ask for candy but is young enough that I can reach into his pumpkin and steal his candy without him caring.

After awhile, his carsuit got all smushed from getting in and out of the back of the van so much. He ended up looking like an advertisement for a lawyer referral service. "Did you recently have a car accident? You might have whiplash and need to sue somebody..."

The glare on the glasses makes it more comical than creepy...

The next day my best friend and I had our weekly playdate. Between us, we have 8 children. 8,7,6,5,2,2,almost 2, and newborn. Needless to say, we are both looking pretty scruffy. I had cleaned out the fridge earlier that afternoon and a nastier job is still to be found. My hair had not been washed in a couple days and I just shoved the mess back into a ponytail. She has recently given birth and was wearing a shirt with what I can only assume is spit-up on the shoulders. She had braided her hair at some point, maybe a week ago by the looks of it.

Neither of us have worn make-up or shoes with heels in who knows how long. Our time together consists of screaming and tantrums. Sometimes the kids act up too. We were talking about how much we'd love to be able to just shoot off to the store by ourselves. 

After I got home, I was telling Matt that I'd like to go to a nearby shopping center with my mom. I was asking him his plans for the next day (Saturday) and whether I could leave a couple kids with him. He said "Tonight would be better. You could even go by yourself if you want to."

You can bet your sweet bippy that I was on the phone to my mom before he could realize the full implications of what he was saying. 

Kate overheard me on the phone and when she realized she wasn't going, followed me around the house crying. 

Earrings in, shirt changed to something almost nice, small purse with no diapers or pacifiers taken...

Crying, screaming, gnashing of teeth. Oh the humanity. 

As I kissed Matt goodbye (and hugged him fiercely - oh, I was happy!), he held out a fretful Tali. "Are you sure you don't want to take her with you?"

"Can't hear you, I'm practically in the car already!"

I kid you not, as I was backing the van out of the garage, I cackled with delight. Cackled like a, well, you know. When you stay at home with young children, it's amazing how exhilarating a trip to Target by yourself can be. It's like winning the lottery or being elected President of the country. I don't think I'm exaggerating. 

One of the local stations was playing pop music from the 90's so I sang Beyonce and TLC at the top of my lungs. I made that minivan look good.

I walked into Kohl's like this:

Giddy. There is no other word for it. My arms felt weird too. Like they should have been holding someone or carrying a diaper bag or pulling a toddler away from the lingerie section before he yells "Mama's boobs?" too loudly.

My mom and I tried on shoes (I got short boots so my huge calves wouldn't take away my joy of the evening) and went out for dinner. While waiting for our check, my mom signaled to what she thought was our waitress.

"Mom, that's not our waitress."
"It's not? What does she look like?"
"This one is blonde with hair around her shoulders. Ours has brown hair pulled into a bun."
"Oh."

Not 2 minutes later, she's trying to get the same woman's attention.

"Mom! She doesn't have our check. It's not our waitress."

Then one last time, trying to flag down the blonde not-our-waitress.

We were laughing so hard that people around us were becoming concerned.

I went shopping with my mom, had some good food and girly drinks and not one time did I ever say anything remotely close to "Don't put your hand in your diaper! It's poopy!"

Now that's a good time.