night of the living mags

Another one has come and gone. Hallow's Eve 2009 didn't disappoint. We had mummies, we had ghosts and we even had a hot-footed devil. Yep, horn adorned Mama decided it was high time to lay down her pitchfork and raid the liquor cabinet after a two month long gym craze detox and found out rather quickly that Yellowtail and fire just don't mix. Would being organized and stocking matches in the utility drawer be so wrong? Apparently so. After having killed off a few more brain cells with the sis and niece over a nice dry pinot, I decided to spookify the joint with some candlelight. Who needs a Zippo when ya got a gas stove and a piece of scrunched up junk mail? As my digit began to burn, the vino suggested I could safely drop the homemade lighter on my tiled floor which in turn led to even more combustion which then resulted in a rather feisty Riverdance by yours truly which in the end left a melted plastic boot which..oh, hell..you get the idea. Next thing I knew, I channeled Ann Miller and had my blazing tootsie in the kitchen sink. With very good extension might I add. I think the five day a week workouts I've been panting through have really paid off. That and the wise choice to wear my mom slacks with the mega pleats and nine inch zipper. It is pretty ironic after all the years I've spent with flamers, that I would end up being one myself.

The spooky weekend started off with a bang as the sis and I took the tykes to a school costume carnival. There were fangs and jack-o-lanterns galore and even an old fashioned cakewalk. We bowled, we skee-balled and screamed up a storm in a haunted house. We were the guinea pigs at the beginning of the line. And, unfortunately, with that advantage always comes a few little kinks that need to be worked out...and we Mags were just the peeps to do it. Freddy Kreuger missed his cue and me and my brood were left in pitch black darkness..literally..for about a minute and a half. As I was about to lose all effects from the Zoloft and the use of both of my rotater cuffs, a zombie came along with a flashlight just in the nick of time and saved the day...or should I say the night. The blackest of one. My four year old did sustain some permanent psychological damage but ended up deciding to go through a second time.

As if the two pounds of Reese's pieces weren't enough, we were at it again the next night. This time for our annual Mag Haunt party complete with cemetery cake and ghoul hand punch. Leave it Walmart to supply me some dud eyeballs that floated iris side down. Good grief. Am I ever gonna be able to buy anything from that store that works? Oy. The kids loved it though. Even the bloody mac-n-cheese that turned into a nauseating fuchsia glop had them smiling. Kids are so easy to please. And thank God, because when ya have Mama Mags creating things...well, let's just say that I'm not the super-mom-arts-and-crafts-June Cleaver type. Nope, with me, it's more like just the Cleaver and not any of the June part. Which leads me to the girls costumes.

Yeah, just when you thought it couldn't get any more frightening, right? Much to the chagrin of seamstresses everywhere, I glued, sliced and diced my way through a mummy get-up and a ghost. Poor W.'s oxygen stats were pretty low most of the weekend due to her homemade mask and there was a wee bit o' redneck trouble regarding the back side of her wrapping. 'Just say no to crack' I would mumble to myself as she bent over to play all the carnival games. Then there was my little curly-top who kept tripping on what I like to call her 'ghost flippers' all night until she finally begged me through the tears to take it off of her. It was just like last years mermaid outfits...due to my ineptitude with the needle and thread, I always seem to have a leftover hunk of fabric at the bottom of whatever I'm making. By that point, I'm several bottles of wine in and too exhausted to care, so I just wad up the excess, tie it with a ribbon and invent a reason for why it should be there. Hey, I ain't no Edith Head, folks. Just an Ozark mama trying to do the best she can.

The universe was definitely on our side this Halloween, as our trip through the neighborhood was very pleasant- gorgeous, full moon..the weather, simply devine. We lost Big Daddy to work after a few minutes of trick-or-treating but he was able to see his little munchkins amble their way down the lane a time or two before he took off. After a brisk stroll of about an hour or so, the ghost had to pee, so we all began to work our way back to the casa. My bone tired sis' feet were ice cold, so I headed to the sock drawer while my O.C.D.'d niece turned on the 500 watt overhead light and went through the candy, sifting out all of the potential razor blades and rat poison. We then filled our bellies with homemade pumpkin soup and more booze, rinsed the chocolate off the kiddos and tucked them in. We big girls finished our evening on the sofa watching the old 1976 classic, "Carrie". Traci and I laughed at William Katt's lion mane and the fact that none of the prom attendees had any cell phones. Bleary-eyed and buzzed and right in the middle of the pig blood, telekinetic breakdown, I looked over at my snoring sis, all decked out in her Winnie the Pooh blanket and psychedelic toe socks. Now that's darn scary, ladies and gents.

Happy Halloween to all! And remember, any excuse to embrace our inner child and overdose on chocolate is always a good one.

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