These Dry Kids Today

What could go wrong with having 14 teenagers over unsupervised for a few hours?

Actually, nothing. Everything went quite right. 

While my wife Amy and I were out celebrating my birthday and our anniversary with dear friends, our oldest Beatrice had thrown herself a belated Halloween birthday party with her good friends (some of whom were the kids of our friends). Bea planned it all, from the decor to the food to the activities. It was quite the production. Amy helped her out with the food before we went out, and I helped a little as well, including decorating for Halloween outside prior to the party because Beatrice loves Halloween. Our youngest Bryce loves their sister but wanted nothing to do with all the teens in our house, so instead spent the night at her best friend's house.

What's great is that Beatrice is taking a culinary class this semester in high school and is learning a lot about food, cooking, and presentation. From a cemetery spinach dip to mummy dogs to ghost pizza and strawberries to spider Oreos, she really had quite the spread for her friends. 

What was missing thankfully were the alcohol and drugs. That's not a joke either. Zero interest from our kids and their friends as far as we know. No vaping either. Nothing. However, when Amy and I were 16 and 17, we had many friends who drank, smoked, and did various drugs. We did as well, although I didn't try alcohol until I was 18 during my senior year. And shortly after high school I started smoking cigarettes. I smoked a pack a day for much of that time until I quit on September 22, 2002. 

But the drinking was common during our teenage years and early adulthood. My sister and I threw many parties at house when our parents were away (which they always knew). We were literally like all the 1980's teen coming of age movies personified. Amy had similar party times as a teenager, too. I was also in a fraternity in college and there was always lots of drinking going on.

Decades later during the pandemic, many parents we knew who drank moderately prior to covid upped their ante on drinking. We were no exceptions. But then Amy stopped drinking just over three years ago, and I drink less frequently overall, even periodically debating about stopping drinking all together myself.

According to a new survey released by Gallup in the summer, only 54 percent of Americans now say they drink alcohol. That’s the lowest share since Gallup began tracking the question way back in 1939, six years after Prohibition was repealed.

Wow. That's down quite a bit, but humans have been drinking alcoholic drinks in some capacity for thousands of years, brewing beer, fermenting wine, and creating other distilled concoctions. The more recent conventional wisdom that moderate drinking is okay and can be good for you, like red wine, just isn't correct. It turns out that the World Health Organization reported "no level of alcohol consumption is safe for our health". Then there are the devastating effects of addiction and alcoholism on the addict directly and their family and friends. 

The good news is that, besides the dip in overall alcohol consumption, it's even more dramatic for teens, with some recent data suggesting that alcohol, tobacco, and other drug usage has been declining significantly since the late 1990s.

That's why it's funny when our kids joke with us and say things like "I'm going to host two parties while you're gone", which Beatrice really said but no other teen ever said (unless it was a Tupperware party). Or, "We're going to find our stoner friends and tell them we'd like to buy one drug, please", which was funny coming from sardonic Bryce when I asked what they were going to do with their best friend when they spent the night. But no, no stoner friends, and no drugs or alcohol. And we check in regularly with them, too. 

Beatrice's Halloween "adulting" birthday bash was a big hit without the bad stuff. Maybe in the future they'll try something, but today they don't. These dry kids today with their culinary skills and safer and stronger social bonds. Mercy me, maybe we should be modeling them instead. 

Only One Text Away

I was already rattled sitting in the corner of the ice cream shop full of ghosts when a guy with a knife in his head pushed the door open and screamed. Right after that three laughing zombies slapped their rotting hands against the store window right in front of me. While this was going on, my wife Amy and I waited patiently (or impatiently for me) for our youngest Bryce to get her ice cream. 

It was Saturday night before Halloween and downtown was frenetically hopping with ghouls, goblins, and creative costumes of all kinds. Bryce had finished two shows as the ghost "Nun Ancestor" in The Adams Family musical with her cast mates and they all wanted ice cream. We'd seen the opening night the night before and it was fabulous, but this also meant that there would be other nights where we'd have to pick Bryce up late after the shows we didn't go to.

We survived the pick up and got home safely. Because we're not usually out this late anymore being home-body parents who like to be snuggled at home watching TV before bed, it was wild to see so many people young and old out (mostly young, though). We kept joking with each other driving to and from picking up Bryce as to where the heck are all these people going. Where were all these college partiers going? Amy kept threatening me that we'd go get our Halloween costumes back on and go find the parties.

Woot! Nope.

Now that both our kids are doing more things independently and are out and about more often, we're having to transport them here and there and everywhere. All, the, time. Now that Beatrice is in high school she has a different schedule than Bryce does in middle school most days during the week, so that means different pick-up times during the week. It gets more complicated when Bryce is in theater and choir, and Beatrice might do theater in the spring. Beatrice is also hanging out more with her friends socially, meeting downtown or going to parties (not college parties yet, thank goodness). And then there are special events the kids want to go to and so much more. 

Back and forth, here and there, to everywhere. Fortunately Amy and I have flexible schedules and we can make it all work. And we know there are much busier families than ours with kids who play competitive sports, have after school jobs, and more. Beatrice will be working next summer as a paid camp counselor, which is something she very much wants to do. 

Back and forth, here and there, to everywhere. There's the occasional reprieve because Bryce rides her bike to and from school at least once a week, although collectively we're just not a ride-your-bike family. The kids also ride the city bus in town as it's free to students, so that's another positive reprieve. Amy also coordinates with other parents sometimes to share rides with their friends, so that's helpful, and we're the family that is always willing to give the other kids rides when needed. 

Back and forth, here and there, to everywhere. With gas prices as high as they are, this is when we wish we had an electric vehicle, at least for in-town driving, but even that doesn't pencil out in the short-term. We may be the Uber parents without a paying app, but we're still only one text away and wouldn't have it any other way.

The Haunted Garden

We went rogue this Halloween. After eight months of pandemic, the "rona" safety protocol fatigue is more than real. Masking up for our family first hasn't changed for us, not one bit, but we'd be lying if we said we weren't tired of the tedium. The tedium of working virtually. Of going to school virtually. Of limiting our travel to camping, and for the next few months, not venturing far from out of our area at all.

Yes, we're grateful for being safe and well, and for having local friends we "pod" with -- watching each other's children a few days a week and doing things safely together.

But we thought a month ago we'd be able to play Captain Hook make Halloween walk the plank and be done with it. But then our daughters and their friends Peter Panned us into it; Halloween was on.

Trick or treating wasn't really going to be an option this year. But then one of our friend families had the brilliant idea to have a haunted house. Or, more accurately, a haunted garden that started in the front of their house, went around one side of the house, through the backyard and then out the open garage for treats. The whole time keeping every one we invited socially distanced and wearing masks (again, it was Halloween). 

We had scary fun set up throughout the haunted garden walk -- including my little pirate area. "Arrrrrr, you scurvy dogs, stay away from my treasure!" While not quite Disney's Pirates of the Caribbean, we gave it our best shot. 

Our friends who hosted our haunted garden added their own take on the dark musical Cabaret on their front porch, and then we had zombie teddy bears, edible eyes and entrails as the entrance attraction. Our pod kids were the haunted garden guides. We had ghost projections on the window and spooky side effects throughout the journey. The side of the house was full of jump scares and then our Halloween guests could get their fortunes read. After my pirate scene, their were giant spiders and then a zombie graveyard with one of our friend's son dressed all in black slinking around and scaring everyone. Then there was a ghoul bride swinging on a swing next to a corpse on a cot. Then a madman jumped on a trampoline and a witch who brewed magic over a fire. Then the haunted garden ended with passage through a body shop replete with sawing sound effects. Yikes! Those who dared to complete the journey were rewarded with treats. 

We had no idea how many would come to our haunted garden tour, and in the end, there were quite a few who did. So, going rogue this Halloween paid off, giving a few folks the opportunity for a little normalcy in a very abnormal world. It's like we've all been living in this haunted garden on a remote island with no means of escape, and 2020 is an angry, drunk pirate who keeps scaring us, stealing our stuff, throwing up everywhere and getting us all sick. 

But fortune favors the bold, and there is still much beauty in our garden to fight for, and lots of love and hope as well. Time to boot that rotten pirate!

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

Mapping the Way

Mask Up First For Your Families

All Because of One Day on the Beach

Awash in Love and Hope

The Building Blocks of Healthy Lives

The Part Where All Lives Matter

The Clarity Bridge for Homelessness

Stars to Shine

Loving Community Wide Shots Abound

A Foundation Worth Saving

This Hit-And-Run Thunderstorm

Help Prevent the Back-to-School Bullying

Memories Now and to Come

Especially Our Kids

This Old "No" Guy Jedi

Choose Eyes of Love

The Morning Work

We Shared Blue Genes

Agree to Disintegration

The Teacher Parade

All These Things Can Lead To Grace

Our Freedom Is Always Welcome

A Well of Strength

This Bad History

No Shirts, No Shoes, No Problem

The Iceberg Underneath

The Healing Hope We Can Give

Donate Your Date Nights and Help Feed Families

About All The Things

Dad, Our Family's Computer Guy

The Newest Normal

Where Our Troubles Are All The Same

This Is The Life

When There's Nowhere to Go

Jenny, Jenny, Who Can I Turn To

Mapping the Way

"Five bucks each? C'mon," my wife Amy said.

"That's why I said to bring the cash," I said. 

"But five bucks each? We'd better take our time in there and enjoy it."

"Yep. Let's go."

Our daughters took the lead into the corn maze. They were both more excited about picking out pumpkins to take home than doing the maze, but plowed into it nonetheless. It felt good to do something somewhat normal around a holiday. Even masked up and keeping our distance from the other families that were visiting the pumpkin patch the week before Halloween.

I don't remember ever traversing a corn maze before. I loved mazes as a kid, though, buying maze books and completing each and every one. I even drew many of my own mazes for others to try their luck. But because this maze was made of drying corn stalks, my mind went to Stephen King's 1977 short story Children of the Corn (which was made into a cheesy movie in 1984) about a couple who end up in an abandoned Nebraska town inhabited by a cult of murderous children who worship a demon that lives in the local cornfields.

You know, just your basic King horror story. Oh, and like the snowed in hedge maze in the movie version of The Shining. 

Anyway, there weren't any cults of murderous children, or a crazy man with an axe, just excited children working their way through the maze with their families like we were.

"Let's go this way!" Bryce called to us. "This way to the exit!"

"No, let's go this way," Amy said.

"No Mom! This way!" Beatrice cried out.

"We're going to take our time and get our money's worth," Amy said.

"So, just stay lost in the maze you mean," I said.

"Yes."

But our girls weren't having any of that. Both Bryce and Beatrice picked one path after another, backtracking and trying new ones after we hit dead ends. It was a beautiful fall day, mild, blue sky and sun, the ocean in view beyond the corn field. We wound through the maze and then -- presto -- Bea and Bryce shimmied through a break in the corn to the exit. 

"I don't think that was actually the way," I said. It had only been about 10 minutes total time in the maze. 

"Yes, it's the way out," Bryce said, running with her sister toward the pumpkin patch.

"I think we were supposed to go back around that way to get to the exit," I said, pointing behind me.

But the girls were gone. Amy and I followed them into the pumpkins beyond. They searched and searched until they found the ones we wanted, ignoring most of our recommendations. After we paid for the pumpkins and carted them back to our car, I glanced over at the corn maze. 

This upside down crazy covid world has been one big frickin' corn maze from hell, I thought. One that we keep winding back and forth in, hitting dead end after dead end, with no exit in sight. Doing the same things every day to keep ourselves safe and well, limiting where we go and who we're around, but never really feeling like we're going anywhere, making any progress, getting beyond the repetitive doldrums while the world inverts dreams and reality like the Christopher Nolan move Inception. Our very souls chafe from this painful repetition, and all the hope and love in the world sometimes doesn't feel like enough for us all to see daylight. 

Don't get me wrong -- we're grateful to be safe and well and know there's an exit eventually from this crazy maze. Until then we'll take the lead from our kids, their simple resilience mapping the way. 

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

Mask Up First For Your Families

All Because of One Day on the Beach

Awash in Love and Hope

The Building Blocks of Healthy Lives

The Part Where All Lives Matter

The Clarity Bridge for Homelessness

Stars to Shine

Loving Community Wide Shots Abound

A Foundation Worth Saving

This Hit-And-Run Thunderstorm

Help Prevent the Back-to-School Bullying

Memories Now and to Come

Especially Our Kids

This Old "No" Guy Jedi

Choose Eyes of Love

The Morning Work

We Shared Blue Genes

Agree to Disintegration

The Teacher Parade

All These Things Can Lead To Grace

Our Freedom Is Always Welcome

A Well of Strength

This Bad History

No Shirts, No Shoes, No Problem

The Iceberg Underneath

The Healing Hope We Can Give

Donate Your Date Nights and Help Feed Families

About All The Things

Dad, Our Family's Computer Guy

The Newest Normal

Where Our Troubles Are All The Same

This Is The Life

When There's Nowhere to Go

Jenny, Jenny, Who Can I Turn To

The First Astronaut

"Lit up with anticipation
We arrive at the launching site
The sky is still dark, nearing dawn
On the Florida coastline..."

–Rush, Countdown

"I'm going to be an astronaut," she said.

"That's awesome," we said.

This after our visit to the Kennedy Space Center over the summer. Both our girls loved seeing all the rockets and the Atlantis space shuttle that day, and it was especially poignant that we were there on the 50th anniversary of the Apollo 11 launch. But it was our youngest Bryce who really fell in love with the idea of space travel. So much so that she begged us to buy her an astronaut suit and NASA hat to wear while we were at the space center.

After some negotiation with Mom and Dad about how much she would spend out of her allowance "spend" money and how much we would cover, we bought the space suit. It was a muggy 95+ degrees outside in Florida that day, and she wore that suit the rest of the afternoon. Shortly after that, she made me promise that come Halloween this year, I'd go as her space shuttle.

I loved the idea of space travel when I was her age. I remember I took a summer astronomy class when I was 10 and the teacher let me each take the telescope home one night. I stayed outside for what seemed like hours, looking at the planets and the stars, until my mom told me it was time to go to bed.

Two years later, Star Wars came out, and that's all she wrote for me. I dove in so deep I've never looked back since. Neither Bryce nor Beatrice have taken to these movies like I have, but there's still time, considering there are many new Star Wars stories to come.

Then came the first space shuttle launch in April of 1981. The space shuttle Columbia was the first space-rated orbiter in NASA's Space Shuttle fleet and such an amazing feat of engineering, science and technology. My favorite band Rush would be inspired to write a song called Countdown about this very launch, a song that still gives me chills today. This inspiration would come after NASA invited Rush to be part of a select group to view the first launch of a space shuttle. So very cool.

This October came and went pretty fast, metaphorically at the speed of light, with work and family trips consuming over half of it. When we returned from these trips, Bryce reminded me of the space shuttle, and I had to quickly get to work on it to complete it before the Halloween events commenced.

I love being creative when I can, and I had lots of cardboard, a roll of white paper, rope, packing tape and marking pens to work with. In less than two hours I created a really simple representation of the space shuttle Columbia, complete with American flags that Bryce made for the shuttle. When she said she was only going to draw three stars, I asked her why, and she said "because". Fair enough. Maybe she was channeling the three band members of Rush. I can dream at least.

We also showed both girls some of the the video of the two female American astronauts who recently took part in the first all-female spacewalk. They'd been tasked with replacing a power controller, and had ventured out of the International Space Station. So awesome to watch. It was also so much fun when I showed the recruiting team at Jet Propulsion Laboratory, one of many organizations that participate in the Talent Board candidate experience benchmark research program I run, the picture of my daughter and I dressed as astronauts and space shuttle. In fact, they said they're hiring!

Bryce was so happy and proud to have me as her space shuttle Columbia at every Halloween event we went to this year, including the Halloween parade at her and her sister's school that all the students participate in. I got a lot of orbit miles out of that cardboard space shuttle in just under one week.

"I'm going to be the first female astronaut to go to the moon," Bryce has told us over and over again.

We of course agreed and, who knows, we may just see her do that someday. And while I don't ever want to take away anything from her about being the first female to go to the moon, to Mars and to who knows where else as the future becomes now again, we long for the day when we can just call her the first astronaut, because.

"Excitement so thick, you could cut it with a knife
Technology high, on the leading edge of life
Like a pillar of cloud, the smoke lingers
High in the air
In fascination with the eyes
of the world we stare..."

How We Can and Do Celebrate One Another

“You and I, we reject these narrow attitudes
We add to each other, like a coral reef
Building bridges on the ocean floor
Reaching for the alien shore

For you and me - We hold these truths to be self-evident
For you and me - We'd elect each other president
For you and me - We might agree

But that's just us
Reaching for the alien shore…”

—Rush, Alien Shore

We talked of the end of the world as we knew it. At first it felt harmless, just another day talking about our days during dinner. I even referenced the zombie apocalypse with a smile on my face. But then it all went south and surreal quickly; she wanted to go north, to Canada, and was quite serious. I sat up straight in my chair wanting to stay and fight for our country, for America.

Our fear filled the space between us like something rotten, killing our appetites, as if we'd unearthed something under the dining room table that should've been dealt long ago but instead was buried and forgotten. We talked of hate and divisiveness, the threat of civil war and death, of why a big part of our country felt so angry and disenfranchised. We talked of the future and our daughters' safety, where in many parts of the world, including our own country, they're still viewed as second class citizens and even slaves -- to be discounted, oppressed, abused, raped and killed.

I remembered thinking, Are they listening to this? Do they know what the hell we're talking about right now?

The girls played in the living room while we talked and our volume escalated with our fears. Neither seemed to be paying attention, but I remember the ugly fights my abusive father and mother had growing up, so we can never be sure. This wasn't that, only a heated discussion, but still disruptive to childhood. While we talked, I thought that I hadn't had such dark, visceral thoughts since the heart of the great recession, where we nearly lost everything and had to reinvent and reinvest ourselves to survive with two very young children.

Our democracy is tenuous even in the best of times, and time and again we've nearly brought it to its knees. Today combined with ever-changing global economics, perpetually polarized politics, and contentious social change and backlash -- and it all goes to hell pretty quickly. And now with blatant racism and sexism, voter intimidation, threats of violence and war, and unfortunately so much more, it's all washed away the middle of the road like a sulfurous red tide. It's a wonder the Mama and I don't have these serious dinnertime discussions every night of late.

Thank goodness that recently there was a fresh breeze that blew through our community and carried away the smell of democratic decay. It came in the form of a beloved annual holiday, full of frightful fun and a rich neighborly tradition delivering many more treats than tricks: Halloween. I have nothing but fond memories of Halloween and this year was no exception for our family, even with the perennial fake news of poisonous candy and razor blades buried deep inside caramel apples.

There we all were, the parents, many of us who knew each other because our children go to school together, walking along like peaceful protestors in the middle of the street. Our children ran frenetically from door to door, giddy with the immortality of what happens next and the treats they'd get from the generous neighbors who opened their well-lit homes, offering sweet smiles as well as candy.

This played out for us street after street, and later after the girls were in bed, we talked about how nice the evening was, and we imagined that's how it played out on similar streets across America. On a day and night where we celebrate the dead and faux frights, and in a time of unprecedented political dysfunction and echoes of societal outrage past, it reminded us of how we can and do celebrate one another, our communities, our country. Either way it goes, we hope we all remember that on November 9 and in the years to come.

When the Boo Zombie Bites

Of course it was right at the clown scene. Our neighbor had invited us to his Halloween party and we stopped by briefly after an fun but long afternoon and early evening of trick or treating.

"We're playing scary movies and just hanging out," he said. "Thanks for stopping by. And thank you for the pumpkin ale!"

Beatrice fixated on the computer monitor -- eyes wide open. The scared little boy from Poltergeist had just covered the clown on his chair (the original movie from 1982, not the remake).

"Stop watching that, Bea," I said.

Our neighbor paused the movie. "Sorry, I'll stop it for now."

"No, don't," said Bea. "I want to see it. What happens?"

What happens is that you'll be scared to death, my dear, I thought.

But she's already been bit by the boo zombie and it's spreading to her heart and head. We should have seen it coming; Beatrice has always loved many of the Disney villain characters and she's dressed up as Ursula and Maleficent for past Halloweens. And although she wasn't a villain, Bea loved Disgust, one of the emotion characters from Inside Out, and dressed up as her this year. Plus, she likes an odd Tim Burton-esque animated series called The New Adventures of Figaro Pho (about fear of all different kinds of stuff).

Bryce on the other hand is all puppies and kitties and unicorns with a princess on top. Always. No scary things here, please. Unless she's hungry and grumpy. Then she becomes a monster of a whole other genre -- the Brycinator. Once satiated, the princess takes back the throne.

The week before Halloween this year we went to a mask making festival where the girls made their own colorful masks. While the experience was light and fun, they did have a room set up with the gross touch boxes -- food items pretending to be body parts to touch and be grossed out by. We did go in there and but only Beatrice enjoyed it. The Mama did it too, kind of, but me and Bryce stayed clear. 

In another room they had a haunted house set up, and Bea begged to go into it. We told her over and over again that she would be scared to death. That was enough to convince her (for now).

The last time the Mama and I went to a haunted house for big kids was at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk was way back in 1998 -- and that was enough to last three lifetimes. The last scary movie the Mama and I watched with intention was The Blair Witch Project. It literally scared the crap out of us. Those who continuously indulge in the horror genre find this movie mild at best today, but for us it was freaking intense. After that, we were done. No harm, no more fouling up our brains with this garbage. 

Yes, we grew up with scary and were weaned on the likes of Halloween, Friday the 13th and many other bloody others. The earliest film scare for me was a little known TV show called Circle of Fear from 1972-1973. I also remember being mesmerized while horrified by the George Romero films Night of the Living Dead, Dawn of the Dead and the campy trilogy end Day of the Dad. Not to mention the The Evil Dead romps. I was also a huge Stephen King fan, but his novels never translated well to film.

The boo zombie bites have always infected that primal desire to poke at millions of years of fight-or-flight evolution with pointed sticks until our pleasure centers swell full of sticky bittersweet fear.

The irony here is that I grew to despise all things zombie as I got older. Everything about them. My creep factor went through the roof and just the idea of zombies practically made me wet myself. At least figuratively. Even the comedy Shaun of the Dead freaked me out.

I never thought in a million frickin' years I'd watch another zombie show. But a year and a half ago while traveling for business, my boo zombie bite from decades earlier festered and compelled me feverishly to watch The Walking Dead pilot on Netflix.

And I was hooked. I couldn't look away. The Mama and I have always loved end-of-world stories, so it wasn't that much of a stretch; I got her hooked as well and we binged until we caught up with the real-time AMC series. It was just about getting past the zombie gore. But once past it, the writing and characters and survival plot has been blowing us away ever since.

Back to Halloween this year. While we didn't dress up like zombies or The Walking Dead characters, instead reprising our safe roles as Han Solo and Princess Leia (the new Star Wars movie is coming out soon for those not keeping score at home), we have a rediscovered respect for compelling story with splashes of horrid scare. And Bea finally got hers (age appropriate of course).

"Can we please go into the haunted house?" Bea asked. We had just finished Halloween story time at Trader Joe's. This year the store actually had a benign, family friendly haunted house set up for kids.

"Are you sure you want to go in there?" I asked her.

"I checked and they said no one pops out at you," the Mama said.

"Things pop out?" asked Bea.

"No, honey. They don't."

"You still want to do it?"

"Yes."

Bea's voice was tentative yet determined. So we waited in line and went. Just me and Bea. Bryce was having none of that nonsense and stayed with the Mama. Bea gripped my hand, and for a spit second she nearly pulled me back, but then we were in.

It was a little dark with stormy sound effects and creaks and groans. The scenes included a witch stirring a glowing orange brew and a banjo playing skeleton with glowing eyes and a sidekick human with a painted skeleton face who smiled ear to ear. There was also a body-part touching room too, but Bea had already satiated that desire by having her own gross boxes for her class, complete with zombie brains (spaghetti and pumpkin guts), witch eyeballs (peeled grapes), vampire ears (dried apricots in oil), and ghost poop (cotton balls).

Ghost poop. Who knew?

That's the thing -- when the boo zombie bites we're all in for the afterlife.  

To Tomorrow and Beyond

It didn't come in the mail all week, even though we told her about it all week.

It's no one's fault, other than the perpetual business-bleeding and delivery inconsistencies of United States Postal Service. We've had package fails before from family outside of California.

True, there's still one more day for it to arrive tomorrow on Halloween itself, the homemade Toy Story Buzz Lightyear costume for Beatrice made with loving detail by Auntie Jill, the Mama's sister.

The plan was for Bea to dress up as Buzz, Daddy to dress up as Woody, Bryce to dress up as Ham (actually a Piglet costume, but don't tell her that), and Mama we're still figuring out (hey, we're on a budget).

We had to have a contingency plan, though. When it didn't come last Thursday, Mama and me began to pitch other costumes to Beatrice.

Fairy? No!

Pooh bear? No!

Princess? No!

Jessie? No!

Buzz Lightyear! Buzz Lightyear! Buzz Lightyear!

*sigh*

So what to do? No Buzz costumes in stock anywhere locally. And for even those available online, shipping was too tight and costly.

I found some homemade Buzz costume instructions online yesterday, and we thought, what the hell -- let's give it a try.

I went to Ace Hardware and bought some paint and colored tape, came home and gathered a box and other pieces of cardboard, and then went to work. I finished the cutting and painting yesterday and then finished the detail today. She hasn't tried the entire costume on yet, but the head, chest and wing pieces were the critical components and they seem to fit and work just fine.

This after a sporadically sleepless night last night with poor Bryce and her new snotty cold and me worrying about the entire future state of the B-hive, the country and the world.

I awoke groggily to this quote:

"When I look back on all these worries, I remember the story of the old man who said on his deathbed that he had had a lot of trouble in his life, most of which had never happened." -- Winston Churchill

Thank you, Mr. Churchill (and the Mama thanks you too -- she's always telling me the same thing). The Buzz Lightyear costume got pulled off. Back to the mindful presence of today.

To tomorrow and beyond, my sweet B-hive. Infinity will have to wait.

Yes, a fairy princess or Piglet even.

Halloween isn't just for ghouls and goblins.

Or zombies. Ack. I hate zombies.

No, Halloween is also about becoming something you're not. It's about suspending your disbelief for one day and pretending that you could really be a rock and roll star, a movie star, a sports star, a politician (God help you), a superhero, a fairy princess or Piglet even.

Yes, a fairy princess or Piglet even. (Forget it -- no zombies. Really. I'm not going to tell you again.)

Pretend change is easy. Real change for a real live adult? That can be painful, although there is immediate relief in the believing.

And believing in my fairy princess and my Piglet give me immediate relief.

Even if Piglet can't do much yet. And the fairy princess just dances around.

(la-la-la-la...)

(Um...a little help Daddy...)

The two faces of parent-baby care, a curse and a blessing

Maybe I was too hard on them, my folks. It comes from a simultaneously selfless and selfish place, this frustration of best-worst-case scenario parent care with a baby, family and career in tow living 600+ miles apart. But they just want to see their children and grandchildren, to be with their families, and with so many families fragmented without, this love and longing is a blessing.

Playing with Bea on daddy daycare Friday, and then prepping for Halloween yesterday, I fast forwarded to when Bea will be 40 and I'm 84, Amy 79 (if we're so fortunate; I'm counting on fortune).

Hopefully we'll be healthy and independent, but what if we're not? We will become a burden to her? Will she help us selflessly as long as we work to help ourselves? We she vent on her holographic supersonic blog about us when we don't and make marginal decisions (I can't see all of the future, c'mon)?

Thankfully the worrisome time-travel bungee cord snapped me back in place and we had a fabulous Hallow's Eve!

From Princess Bacon to Pooh Bear Bee, Beatrice was a doll!

Even though she cackled with laughter when I kicked an immovable object full force with my right foot. Ouch. Hee-hee!

And even though she reveled in squishing pumpkin brain th

rough her tiny fingers and then ate it.

She survived her first trick or treat outing on the Santa Cruz Wharf and Mommy and Daddy ate all the candy. Yum.

In fact, starting next year we're enacting a mandatory processed candy for organic fruits and veggies exchange.

Hey, we care. A blessing indeed.