Social reality: ZOMG what cuties! We had the bestestest Halloween evaaaaa!!!
Reality reality: No. Maybe 10 seconds after these adorable photos were taken (4pm), they started melting down like so much Halloween chocolate.
Essie's wig, which she's been coveting for weeks, was too itchy. Off it went. I think the wig cost us $2.50 per minute of wear, in the end. Then the tears. Right there in the yard. (No idea...)
It was like pulling teeth to get them in the car so we could go to the PARTY that they were EXCITED ABOUT ATTENDING. More tears. Inexplicable fighting.
The party was good. Both girls removed most of their costumes immediately, of course. Towards the end it went south, when Camille threw a screaming fit (she wanted me to draw a straight line, I drew 5 of them, none were acceptable). She threw herself out of my arms such that were I a man with normal-length limbs, I would have lost my grip and she would have dropped herself right on her head. During this fit, Es was helpfully asking me permission to eat a cupcake.
Off to trick or treating.
A stray cat (probably, we decided, in heat) followed us all over the neighborhood. Instead of knocking on doors and collecting virtually UNLIMITED amounts of CANDY—something so perfect that there is no metaphor for it—they obsessed over the &!@#$%@# cat. The cat is following us. I want to pet the cat. The cat is our friend. We should feed the cat. I'm afraid the cat will bite me. The cat is now our cat. Let us chase the cat. The cat is following us. Did you see the cat? The cat is following us.
Normally, we would roll with this, but—follow my logic here—if they wear themselves out with this &!@#$%@# cat situation, they will be too tired to knock on doors and collect candy, and when we get home, it will be a blame armageddon due to the dearth of candy. So we need to get these turds some candy. Go away, cat.
We eventually dragged them to enough houses to fill their buckets with sugary treats, which we kept threatening to take away from them because of all the whining.
Meantime, we kept ending up with more of their stuff. Sherpas were we. Camille's cape and cowl were in my hands the entire time. By the end, I ALSO had two cans of soda, two bags of popcorn, three candy wrappers, a camera, and a 2-year-old in my pockets/on my person.
The night climaxed with Es whimpering in a heap on the sidewalk in the dark, a mermaid out of water.
The girls melted so much that they reformed as solids, rallied for one more house, and then whined/fussed/fought/cried through a few minutes of candy binging, baths, and teeth brushing.
Of course, there were little bits of magic. Squeals of delight, adorable "twick o tweats," serendipitous fun with neighbors, etc. But parents of wee ones, tell me your night was any better or different. Don’t even lie.