First on the agenda was a trip to the pumpkin patch. Before I was even through the gate, Mark was holding a large, lopsided pumpkin with an $8 price tag on it.
"I want this one!" he shouted. I glanced around the lot, but it was kinda like buying a Christmas tree on Christmas day; not much to choose from. There were but a few rows of lonely, leftover pumpkins.
Some nice man gave us his leftover ride tickets on his way out, and the kids immediately used them on the giant inflatable slide. They raced up and down for 20 minutes, until finally they stumbled over to us, pink and sweaty. It was 85 degrees and hot outside; so much for a change of seasons!
Their next stop was a game booth. First, they threw plastic balls into giant pumpkin cutouts. Then they moved down a few steps to try their hand at fishing for magnetic turtles. Each turtle was labelled with a size that referred to a box of inflatable toys. All our kids won medium or large, which meant they got to choose an inflatable hammer or bat. They immediately raced off to beat each other silly with them.
My parents invited their neighbors over for dinner, which consisted of pizza, baked beans, mummy dogs and chili that was so hot, my brother Scott couldn't stop sweating.
"That's GOOD!" he gasped between bites. (He made it, and was very proud of himself.) He insisted I try some, and for a few minutes afterwards, I saw stars, as though I'd been pounded in the head with an inflatable bat. It was that hot!
My mom and I created the mummies by painstakingly wrapping hot dogs in crescent roll dough. I must admit my mom was much better at this than I was. "My patients don't look so good," I noted, as the "bandages" fell off once again.
My nephew Grant was intrigued and bothered by the mummies. "What are you putting on them?" he asked Scott more than once.
"Bandages," Scott told him, which did not sate him. "It's just bread dough, Grant," he explained, but Grant didn't believe him.
"What are you putting on there?" he asked me, and I answered the same thing. He frowned, and questioned my mom.
Finally, his mom gave him a bite of the "bandages" and he finally let it go.
Even though it was hot outside, the kids couldn't wait to dress up. They were in full costume by 5 o'clock, and quickly scarfing down their dinner. They wanted hit the streets as soon as possible, and didn't like hearing they had to wait until dark.
Finally, at 6 o'clock, we could hold them back no longer. The five adults filled our plastic ghost cups with wine, and headed out. The kids raced up the street, filling their plastic pumpkins with all the refined sugar they could get. Which turned out to be quite a lot; the neighborhood is an older one, with few kids. The homeowners were glad to see the kids, and loaded them up with handfuls of candy.
I've got to hand it to the kids, they did pretty well. The complaining didn't start until about 45 minutes in, when Mark grabbed at my cup and peered inside.
"I'm thirsty," he panted. "Is this water?"
I swiped it back. "No, it's wine. Keep going!"
Luckily, Michelle the neighbor, had brought along a bottle of water, which she graciously shared with my dehydrating son.
Ten minutes later, the complaints started up again, with cries of "My pumpkin's too heavy!"
"Do you have a bag I can put this in?" Mark asked me, apparently unable to see that all I was carrying was one plastic cup.
"I've got bags!" Michelle said. She was waaaaay more prepared than we were.
"There you go," I told Mark. "Go get one from the good mommy."
The kids circled the cul-de-sacs, and when the complaining grew loud again, Scott and I chastised them.
"Seriously," I said. "It's Halloween. It's the one night of the year you can run up to any house in the country, and people will give you free candy! What are you complaining about??"
Scott asked them what other night of the year that happened, and they all agreed none. They rallied for a few more minutes, until Grant tripped and fell, and announced he was done.
So we returned home at 7:30, and the mayhem began. The kids dumped their pumpkins out onto the table and began trading candy furiously. Mini-bars flew from hand to hand so quickly I was sure the chocolate would melt.
Everyone was finally happy with their take. Mark separated out all the Skittles and Starbursts, which I allow him to keep for low blood sugars. Next, he picked out his 10 favorite candies and set them aside to eat later. Then, he picked out three candies to eat immediately. The rest he handed over to me, and I handed him $10 in return. He got candy immediately, and for the next couple weeks, and $10 to boot. He was a happy camper.
We let them run wild for a bit afterwards, since they were fully revved up and enjoying a nice sugar buzz. But eventually, the sugar crash followed, and they settled down to sleep.
Oh, and as far as the diabetes...it made itself known, especially on this holiday dedicated solely to consuming massive amounts of sugar. All the walking actually made Mark a little low by bedtime; even after the junk food dinner and three mini-candy bars, his blood sugar was 70. I gave him some milk, and apparently, diabetes roared its ugly head and protested at the healthy food. His blood sugar shot up to 418 (!) two hours later.
But that was just a sidenote to the whole story. The best part of the story didn't even involve a meter; instead, it focused on six happy kids, their smiling parents and grandparents, and loads of happy childhood memories they made that night.
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