T minus eleven days.
Eleven days until my kids can don their chosen costumes and gorge on candy
I'd tucked the Party City bag full of their costumes and props away, so nothing was destroyed and/or lost during the ramp up to Halloween.
Until last night, when the Yoys went digging in the hall closet.
Big E immediately opened his packet of violations. I think this is why he chose to be a SWAT Officer. Just so he could issue tickets and be all-around bossy.
Then I got this.
If you've never read Harry Potter, I'm sure you are thinking...NO BIG DEAL. But we are the Yoysers. Big deals around here include who washes their hands first before dinner and who gets to pick out the Shabbat candles on Friday night. From a box full of the same exact damn candles.
I guess I should thank Big E for noticing my error. I probably wouldn't have ever seen it. But look, there it was. Little child models mockingly wearing their Hufflepuff robes. Damn you, Hufflepuff and your gold scarves.
In my mind, I had already formulated a game plan. Being a parent is like living in crisis mode, I'm always waiting for the next catastrophe to be thrown my way. I would get up in the morning, run to Party City and pray to the Halloween gods that they still had a size small Griffindor robe available. I knew that my chances were slim, but I sustained myself on Coke Zero and hope. That's all I got.
And if they didn't have a robe, I'd just stick with Hufflepuff. Little E probably wouldn't notice, anyway. Half the time, he's completely unaware of where he is. It's kind of an awesome way to roll through life.
But just as I was having this thought and giving Big E the death stare so that he wouldn't say anything, Little E grabbed his robe and pointed at the word Hufflepuff.
MOM, THIS IS THE WRONG ROBE! YOU BOUGHT HUFFLEPUFF!
Damn, damn, double damn. Why did he have to learn to read?!
Before he could get hysterical, I told him I'd go first thing in the morning, to exchange it. And that I did.
The Harry Potter section of Party City was very sad and barren. I cursed myself internally for a minute, took a deep breath, and whipped out my iPhone.
Please, please, please. Amazon, if you can hear my prayers, please have a size S Griffindor robe.
And they did!
So if you saw me fist pumping in Party City this morning. Sorry, I'm not sorry. I'm a mom. And I'm killing it.