P.S. If I start to feel sorry for myself on this blog again, feel free to slap me around a little. Sometimes tough love is the only solution.
Now, moving on to what this post is actually about:
We love Halloween here on the S.S. Didactic. Seriously, the whole family. Big spooky Halloween love. Ok, most of us love Halloween. Two-thirds of us really, really love Halloween.
The Mini-Pirate and I put it right up there with Christmas as the best time of the year. To celebrate, we have several traditions:
1. We light the traditional Franken-lamp.
2. We read from our favorite book of Halloween Franken-poems.
|Buy this book. I'm not kidding. There's a poem in it entitled "Godzilla Pooped on my Honda." |
Do you need another reason?
3. And in the evenings, I rock my awesome Franken-pants.
|Hands off, Ladies. He's married!|
Part of the massive Festoonification includes the assembling of The Halloween Village, a kitschy ceramic cityscape that takes up more and more space in our living room every year as my own mother, sponsor of the village's urban expansion project, sends us new buildings.
|The Village ("of the Damned," growls Saucy)|
...she doesn't even like Halloween in the first place.
|"Why does the mean lady hate us, Bobby? Why?"|
"I don't know, Alice! Let's get her! EVERYBODY GRAB YOUR TORCHES!"
I wouldn't say she hates it, but it's not her favorite holiday. She just doesn't have a lot of love for it. But she knows that Mini-P and I do, so she goes through the trouble of decorating, of festooning, and of village assembly, every year. She knows it makes Mini-P and I happy. The kid jumps up and down and spazzes out when the village lights up, knowing it signals the start of Spooky Season. And I dig it because I love traditions. I can't help it. I love pulling the boxes out of the garage every year. I love seeing our house transform. I too love our kitschy, ceramic village, just like I love Franken-lamp, and reading Halloween books with my daughter.
Thank you, Wife of Mine. As always, you make every holiday special, every year. What do you say I put on my Franken-pants this weekend after the kid collapses into her trick-or-treat sugar coma and show my gratitude.
Hey, come back.