…our candy haul would be huge!

I looove Halloween.  It’s my favorite holiday.  The candy is the best part, but I’m too old (and have been for some time) to seriously knock on doors for any of that stuff anymore.  Last year, Steph and I took the Worm (and a still-baking-in-the-oven Smushie) out.  I went as a businessman-turned-worn-out-stay-at-home-dad.  My disheveled hair, unkempt beard, stained gray sweatpants and sandals garnered me zero treats, even though the idea was original and my garb, tres authentique.  (A bum on the street did feel sorry for me, though.  He tossed me a nickel and half a jelly sandwich to raise my spirits.)  Our stroll around the block (without our generous friend) brought me back to the good old days.

I miss my prepubescent Halloween excursions where I’d hang out with friends all evening and come home just before midnight with the fruits (yeah, ‘fruits’) of my labor, a pillowcase full of yummy, gummy, gooey, chocolatey, fudgy sweets.  I still remember getting the post-Halloween sugar rush that gave me powers to bounce off bedroom walls, leap over creeks in a single bound, and pedal my bike through my neighborhood for hours with no rest.  I was a superhero every November.

I want that feeling again. (Is this my mid-life crisis?)  And this time, I am prepared to use my daughter as a pawn in my plot to relive some of my childhood!

Kit-Kats!  Reese’s!  Blow-Pops!

Airheads, Nerds and Pop-Rocks!

Gummi-Bears!

I don’t cares!

Gimme all you got!

If I can get the Smushels to stand all by herself in front of a door wearing a cute costume, she’ll score some serious loot.  That’s certain.  Who wouldn’t want to treat a sweet little baby showing off her best trick?  On the other hand, if I’m holding Smush as we go up to knock on doors, she’ll get worthless smiles and a bunch of un-belly-filling “Aw, what a cute baby!” looks.  People will think she’s too young to eat junk food and withhold their delectable bounty.  I think any of us that went trick-or-treating on Halloween knows that the amount of candy you get is inversely proportional to your size (and/or amount of facial hair).  Smushie is at the prime size to rake in some serious junk food for us, but only if she’s in a vertical position.  So I’m working on her balance skills, Bela Karolyi style, which means 8 hours a day on a balance beam.  (Wobbling is fine.  It will actually enhance the candy receiving effect.)

If you’re thinking that I’m taking advantage of my daughter, you’d be wrong.  We have a deal.  She poops.  I wipe.  She pulls my neck skin.  I scream.  This is just an addendum to our current contract:

CLAUSE 49 – Smush works for Halloween candy.  I eat it.

Besides, what candy can she eat with only two teeth?  The single possibility is the “candy that melts in your mouth and not in your hand” (and that’s a choke hazard for her age group).  Everything else requires some choppers (or dentures), neither of which she has quite yet.  So, to make sure our hard-earned chocolates don’t go to waste, I’ll do the honors!

Is this going to be the greatest Halloween in 20+ years for me?  Hell yes.  I’m only telling you guys this because YOU CAN’T STOP ME!  Halloween is back for Honeydaddy!  And for at least the next two years (hopefully three), Smushter will work hard at the end of October, only to wake up in November and not remember a thing.  All I have to do now, is convince Smush that the ground is a stable platform (unless there’s an earthquake).  She just has to stand there in costume and look pretty.  We’ve got less than a week before I’m literally taking candy from a baby…mu hu ha ha ha!

Smush, You Better Bring Your A-Game on Halloween!