The little angel was not a big fan of Halloween, her costume, any of it.  She really told it to piss off.

To be fair, she's been sick since Friday.  She's still waking up howling at her own moon every night at the 3 a.m. witching hour. I called the Benevolent Pediatrician today, and her nurse told me not to give the little angel any meat or dairy products, since they are hard to digest. This is in case her stomach hurts. Which it may not. It might be her ears, or her little toe, or the wind in the trees, or the idea of a flat tax, or nothing, really, nothing at all, just likes to cry for an hour at 3 a.m. We really don't know any more about the little angel's mental make-up at this juncture than Harriet Miers' judicial background.  Such is life.

Anyway, I digress.

We went to trick-or-treat house number one, that of my friend A. and adorable Baby N.  He was dressed as a lion.  The little angel wiggled in her horrible blue Care Bear costume, the costume I swore I would not put her in but did anyway out of desperation.  She was also wearing some sweatpants under the costume, and I think the combination of thick fleece and fake fur and size 5 diapers caused just a bit of binding, perhaps a Waddler Wedgie.  Who knows.  Anyway, she squalled until we removed both the costume and, inexplicably, her shoes, which she refused to wear for the rest of the evening. 

We sort of gave up on trick-or-treating any more after that. 

Upon our return, we realized if there were ANY cute little kids in our neighborhood, they were long gone. We did get one rowdy group of middle-school kids right before the angel's bath, but they ironically would only take one small handful of candy each.  I plan to dish the rest out on my students at class tonight. The last thing we need is a bunch of chocolate around the house.  I tend to eat a lot of sugar when I've been up diagnosing little angel cries all night, and dammit, I just don't need that sort of temptation. 

In other news, my darling mother has been here since Saturday primarily for the purpose of watching the little angel while I teach tonight, as beloved is out of town.  In her time here, she has cooked all the meals, frozen many, done all my laundry and is now volunteering to take home my pants with the pesty hem and fix them instead of just taping them together.  God bless mothers and their amazing acts of domesticity of which I am incapable of doing.