Halloween story activity

This is a fun, simple Halloween story that I have mentioned to some of you. I first heard it years ago from a library storyteller, and so charmed was I, I went through stacks of paper sharing it with all the littles in my life. (And bigs, too, who are young at heart.)

Tell the story as you do the cutting, and be prepared for all your listeners to want to recreate the tale themselves.

Here is my own version of The Witch's House:

A little witch was traveling home after visiting her friend. It suddenly became so windy that she couldn't continue flying on her broom. She decided to make herself and her cat a house for the night.

The first thing she found when she landed was a piece of paper. Now, to you and me that might not seem special. But witches are magic!

1. She folded the paper in half so she could go inside. (Fold widthwise.)

2. She cut off the top corners to make a roof (non-folded edge).

3. Got to have a door! The witch started to make one. When she got to the top she decided the door should be pointy so her pointy hat would fit.

4. "Meow," said the cat. He wanted his own door, the silly thing! The witch cut a very small door next to hers, just the cat's size.

They both went inside. The house was warm, but oh, so dark!

5. The little witch went back outside and cut out a window in the shape of a half moon -- just right for letting the moonlight shine in. (Fold paper between witch's door and left edge up about halfway. Cut window farther left than cat's door -- near where thumb is in photo.)

The witch loved her new house. Can you see why?

Seeing your audience wide-eyed in wonder will make your day. I promise.

Calling all sugar guardians

Things that make you go "hmmm" ...

While Mom looks on warily, Emma, Elise and Kyle engage in a tradition even better than trick-or-treating:

sort-and-trading.

Halloween 2006

MEMO

To: Oh wise sugar guardians

Re: Proven candy control methods

Please help! Tell me what works for you. My effectiveness is melting faster than an M&M, and they do so melt in your hand.

It was the ward Halloween party and trunk-or-treat last night. Fabulous gig. Lots of creativity on display, lots of camraderie. LOTS OF CANDY.

7:30 p.m. Saturday: "I got more candy than I ever imagined!" said an elated James as we left.

12:30 p.m. Sunday: "I can't believe I ate all that candy in two days!"

Correction, James. Make that one day. Or, to be more precise, when factoring in sleep time and church, only about three hours.

I know there are dental-conscious, behavior-coaching mothers out there who are appalled at this revelation. Truth be told, I would be too in my early days.

Here's the anthropological progression. First child: take him trick-or-treating to two houses, let him eat a piece of candy at home that night, and send him to bed an extremely happy child. Leave any extra pieces out carelessly on the counter. He'll hardly notice. Enjoy them yourself at will -- naptime's a good choice.

Two kids: Stand a far enough distance from door that crawler in your arms doesn't see her costumed brother is getting candy. That plan foiled, buy her silence with a Dum Dum. Put baby to bed before sorting 3-year-old's goodie bag. Give him one piece with a promise for another tomorrow. Pretend to leave bag at Grandma's. Alternately, hide the bag once home. It will be but a distant memory in about a week.

Three kids: Try to keep youngest from stealing from the others' candy bags as you romp through the neighborhood. Still gamely try to portion out loot over the next several days. Yet, oldest is remarkably brand-savvy and becoming a good negotiator. Repeatedly give in to "Mom, can I have another piece? I'll give you a Reese's."

Four kids: Just give up. No kitchen shelf is high enough for their collective ingenuity.

But wait!

Five kids: Now you have to be a referee because oldest, who considers himself too old to do the work, still wants the candy and will taunt the others.

So that's where I stand. My early efforts to instill self-discipline and make their Halloween candy last at least until November have completely disintegrated. I don't understand it. I could make my own childhood Halloween conquests last until practically Christmas -- MID-DECEMBER, PEOPLE! -- by pulling my bag out from under my bed every day after school to sample one glorious piece. Actually, by Thanksgiving it was hardly worthwhile, with only hard candies and Bit-o-honey left, but still I soldiered on.

Perhaps to console myself, I've decided that maybe getting rid of it all at once isn't so bad for the teeth, as long as the belly can tolerate it. Plus it means that Mom doesn't have to keep dressing up like a witch beyond Oct. 31.

I've done my own trading. I've changed my one-piece-a-meal policy for new rules:

• "Daddy tax" is non-negotiable.

• Don't let Samuel have anything he can choke on.

• If you steal from someone else's bag, that person gets to choose TWO of your pieces.

• "Daddy tax" can be levied hourly. Sorry, Mom has no control on this one.

• Each candy wrapper Mom picks up off the floor entitles her to a piece of her choice.

• You're out, you're out.

• Brush your teeth thoroughly.

In the air

Elise makes a new pile every day after school.

In the air:

Leaping children

Dancing rakes

Flying leaves

In the air: Fall

Why am I not surprised Samuel is raking leaves away from the pile?

A fierce wind came out of nowhere, and we turned to watch leaves whirl down the street. See those specks in the clouds? Those are leaves way up there!  I love how one leaf is reflected off the camera's flash.

Leaf angel

Samuel winces.

First, Elise asked if we could plant a big tree right in the middle of our lawn. Next, James told me it would be all right to bring rakes to school. That's when I got it: these two can't get enough of leaves.

When I saw our neighbors outside making a big leaf pile in their yard Monday, I spread the wonderful news. Elise was there, rake in hand, in a jiffy. It was like a dream come true.

The resulting pile jumps and leaf wars were exhilarating. Dinner was delayed, but so what? Funny how no one complains about that (much) when you've all had fun together. 

Fever pitch

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Three Samuel-centric posts in a row. But this one is happening in real time -- I've just got to do it!

The scene: Samuel bouncing through the living room, turkey baster in hand. (Because it makes a fabulous microphone, didn't you know?)

"Dee dah dee dah dee dah dee, do ya wan dah dah dah do do, yah, yaw, yaw, yo!"

*bounce, bounce, bounce*

"Yay, doo dah, drike, whoa"

"Dat's a true song!"

(Never-ending) bowl full of jelly

Dear Santa,

I know it's a bit early, but I have a tall order to fill.

Could I please have my own refrigerator? Not a play one. A real one -- stocked with cottage cheese and milk and pudding and yogurt and treats. I really, really like Capri Suns. I don't understand why Mom makes a special effort to gift wrap them for the other kids when they go to school.

I'm pretty good at getting myself stuff out of the fridge in the kitchen, but Mom always seems to get mad when I do. If she's in the room, she makes me ask her for stuff. Nicely.

She says, "Samuel, say this: 'Mommy, may I have more milk, please?'"

I say, "YEAH!" So glad she understands what I want.

Yet she's always busy. A man can only take so many "just a minute"s, you know. And then when she does turn around from whatever it is she's doing, she sometimes goes for the camera first. Hey! I want more cottage cheese -- not a cheesy shot!

I think I would be much better with my own stash. Mom can be soo territorial.

While you're at it, could you bring Kyle a vending machine? I heard Mom tell him he treats the food storage room like one. But I think they have better treats. Plus, a vending machine in his room would make going in there while he's at school even more enticing.

Thank you,

Samuel, age 2

Icing on the cake

1. The promise of one of these babies is how we got Samuel to sit through the big group shots at my brother's wedding Sept. 30. He devoured ... a lot.

2. Yoo-hoo, kids! This way. The camera is over here (snaps fingers).

3. Hmm. Not sure if this is an improvement. Note Samuel ready to bop Elise's head with a bouquet, and the handprint on the glass door in the background.

4. Ah, yes, the magic of weddings and kids. Where bouquets become helicopters or feather dusters, depending on your need, where chocolate sticks become swords, where little boys mutute into little men.

5. Hoo-boy.

6. It was a long night, and Lisee was pooped.

7. Uncle Matt gave James a skateboard for being his ring bearer. (James was nervous, but he did great!)

8. Skateboarding tips from the guy in a sling? Yeah, I have a bridge to sell, too. Grandpa Jim had surgery to reattach a tendon the week before the wedding. A night of well wishes took its toll. Hugs hurt.

9. The extremely happy couple. We love you guys!

I love wedding receptions. I love the sparkle, the best-dress best behavior, the love in the air, the excitement there to rub off on you like so many loose sequins.

I worked at a wedding reception center for five years. As a hostess, I loved being a part of the bride and groom's big day. Sometimes, I admit, there were couples whose moods and interactions, at an occasion that should bring out their best, made me nervous for their future. Most of the time, though, I ended my shifts inspired by couples' happiness. Along with the styrofoam boxes of occasional extra goodies (my family's favorite perk), I took home a renewed desire to make my own marriage shine. Yep, I love wedding receptions.

My husband hates them.

His disdain is legendary, so much so that when a rare business trip landed on the same day as my brother's wedding, I questioned the coincidence. At first. Just to joke. "You'll do anything to get out of a wedding," I teased.

Really, it was out of Jeff's control. He felt badly (I think!) about missing such an important event. Because, it must be said, his support of family supplants his own likes and dislikes. Perhaps a very model of marriage behavior.

I wish Jeff had been able to come. He certainly was on my mind. While waiting for the ceremony to start, my Aunt Susan said something that made me reflect on all Jeff does.

My children looked fantastic, if I do so say myself. Commenting on this, Aunt Susan said hey, all you need to do is get a family portrait tonight, and your Christmas card is practically done. Yes, I replied, except that Jeff is out of town.

"Oh!" Aunt Susan laughed. "I thought he was just behind the scenes doing his thing!" So Jeff gets credit.

The wedding was beautiful. Matt and Brooklynn are a fun-loving, affectionate pair, and I am so thrilled for them. My brother's countenance is different for knowing Brooklynn. I have never seen him so happy. She brings out his best.

It was weird to look at the video montage playing during their reception, to see pictures of Matt with looks I had not seen, to sadly suppose these shots marked periods where I didn't see him often. I talked to many of my friends in the weeks leading up to this wedding, telling them how excited I was. I realized I said the same words over and over: that because of Brooklynn, and the importance she places on family, I have a treasured relationship with my brother again. Such a wonderful new sister is a bonus.

I met many of Brooklynn's family for the first time at their wedding dinner the night before (something else Jeff missed, sigh). We had an assembly line of introductions. When her especially attractive friend (we're talking movie star quality here) said, "I'm Amber, and this is my husband, Doug," Brooklynn's uncle brought down the house with his disappointed "Shoot!"

Many of Brooklynn's family were surprised when I introduced myself as Matt's older sister. "I thought you were younger. He always calls you his little sister," one told me. Sure, because I'm short!

In a world where height doesn't equate with age or experience, Matt and Brooklynn, I'm still looking up to you, inspired by the happiness so clearly written on your faces. I just love weddings.

Keeping the Peace

I do not envy President Obama's job on any day, especially on this one. News that he was just awarded the global Nobel Peace Prize is sure to create a bit of unrest on home soil. I can't even imagine the sort of vitriol that people will start slinging. Obama haters will have a heyday. Even some supporters will say it's too soon.

I guess it is like awarding a chef for a fabulous meal based, not on the finished courses, but on the papery-thin written menu alone. An ambitious menu, nonetheless. Now Obama is in a veritable pressure cooker to pull it off, and I for one hope he does.

I rather like the idea of applauding someone for his vision, for his promise. It's a way of saying, look, others support what you're doing. We're rooting for you. Is he worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize? I hope so. Again, hope. To me that is what Obama has been all about.

Of all the remarks I've read so far, I think Lech Walesa's carries the most weight. The following appears in an AP report:

Lech Walesa, who won the prize in 1983, questioned whether Obama deserved it now.

"So soon? Too early. He has no contribution so far. He is still at an early stage. He is only beginning to act," said former Polish President Lech Walesa, a 1983 Nobel Peace laureate.

"This is probably an encouragement for him to act. Let's see if he perseveres. Let's give him time to act," Walesa said.

Doormat

"I love you, have a good day at school," I said to my moody daughter as she hurried past me in the front hall.

"I love you," I said again, hoping she just hadn't heard me the first time. 

She didn't even look at me. Technically speaking, her parting "humph!" as she walked through the front door elevated this above the silent treatment. Still, I wanted to cry. I'd gone through the wringer with that child this morning, the source of all that was wrong in her world. "Why didn't you wake me up earlier? Mo-om! I can't find any clothes! You NEVER do laundry! I don't want to wear that! I don't have time for breakfast now!  I don't want a home lunch! Mo-om!" All this after my delivering another surly child in his carpool and dealing with the toddler's screams that I wouldn't let him have any more lunchbox snacks.

I felt like a doormat.

I got Jeff's voicemail when I called his office to vent, or at least to circumvent. I was going to say "I can't do this anymore!" -- about 12 hours earlier than other such utterances to him, usually at the end of a bad day when fatigue clouds my vision. I saw the absurdity of proclaiming such a thing to an answering machine, however, hung up and took stock of the situation. Oh, I am ridiculous.

I've ruminated on this before, a mother's role as her children learn and grow. Like the doormat expression in the English language, I often do feel like my children walk right over me with disrespect, that their lack of appreciation flattens me. 

But who else will teach them courtesy? Who will be there to help them wipe off the dirt of the world and enter a safe place? Who will be the launching pad for new adventures, the familiar thing they touch upon coming home? 

I've decided that if I can help my children be better in all their comings and goings, that if I can help them get a little bit closer to their wonderful potential every time they brush past me, then that is a very good role indeed. 

No matter the wear and tear. 

Murphy's law

If you live in my neck of the woods and expected it to freeze last night, you have me to thank that it didn't.

I leisurely harvested my red tomatoes yesterday, oblivious to the weather. Only when we sat down to dinner did I read the newspaper's frosty forecast. I jumped into action, spurring my kids to join our garden rescue mission. We raced the last minutes of daylight. 

It surely would have frozen if we'd left everything on the vine. Sigh.

You're welcome!