I have clearly failed as a mother. As part of her bass practice, Pie is supposed to sing along while she plucks out her tunes. It’s simple. “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”
Except… my daughter doesn’t know the words. Seriously? She gets lost somewhere around “Up above the world so high” and just starts making crap up. How can someone make it the age of eight and not know the words to “Twinkle Twinkle”? It’s crazy.
But that’s not what I wanted to tell you. What I really wanted to tell you about was a series of text messages that occurred on the morning of Thursday, October 31. At breakfast, about 7:08 a.m., my boy said, “Is Daddy on the plane right now?”
I replied, “He f’ing better be!”
I’m pretty sure I made it clear in my last post how I feel about Halloween. Let’s just say, I’m not a fan.
The man is clearly a mind reader because at 7:12 a.m. I got the following text: “On my flight. Just in case you were worried.” And a few minutes later, “See you in a little bit.”
I texted back a smiley face. Which was pretty much my kiss of death, because what it really meant was “I am so happy you are coming home to relieve me of the horrors of Halloween and to save me from the hordes of greedy children and the mounds of candy that I’m clearly just begging the universe to f’k with me.”
Because after a quick text exchange about the Red Sox winning the World Series, I got this text: “Hold the phone. Plane has some damage. On ground for at least an hour. May have to change planes. Just got done telling woman next to me my ‘I missed my Halloween flight’ story. She nows thinks I’m a jinx.”
I of course knew better. “This had better be a Halloween prank.”
And when he replied, “For reals,” I may have called him a loser. But not with that word. And not in a friendly upper/lowercase kind of typing.
So what time did his 3:30 arrival land? at 7:25 p.m. Just in time to COMPLETELY miss Halloween. He did write, “On the plus side I’m packing so many gummy bears that I think customs suspects me of being a drug mule.”
And I got first dibs on the kids’ reject candy (my kids dislike the oddest things and I ended up with a huge haul of peanut butter cups, butterfingers, and other random goodness). Of course, two days later, I was pissed I had so much kids’ candy, but what can you do? (Don’t say, “Not eat it.” Because that is NOT an option.)
I’ve already started crafting the note I plan on giving Adam’s boss next year:
Dear Mr. Boss Man,
Please excuse Adam from work travel. He will be drawn and quartered if he leaves the Boston vicinity within forty-eight hours of Halloween ever again. If he even thinks about a work trip around Halloween, I will come after every employee of your company. It will not be pretty.
Have I mentioned how much I hate Halloween?