Candy

Mazin was a dog for Halloween.  No, I did not make the costume.  Maybe next year, when I am more confident that he will be in the mood to put it on when it's time.  I just couldn't bear the thought of pouring hours of time into a masterpiece of felt and fur only to have him spurn my efforts at the eleventh hour.  He's just way too two right now to risk such a thing.  Just a word about Halloween: it's pretty strange.  Easy to kind of ignore before you have kids, but when you have kids and you think about every parenting move you make and analyze every activity your child participates in, well... it's twisted.  But whatever, it's fun.  Mazin had a good time checking out the other kids in costume, eating his first (and possibly last) Babe Ruth, and staying up past his bedtime.  He was not fond of the scary masks.  Not at all.  But he really liked the candy.  I kind of assumed he would get sick of it after a couple of pieces, but oh was I deluded.  We did have to cut him off, because I really worried he might throw up if he ate too much of it.  Luckily he seems to think he ate it all that night, because he hasn't asked for it since.  I imagine that will not happen in subsequent years.  Ah, candy.  What an unstoppable force--an invincible foe!  Even the word sounds magical.  Mazin can't say it without smiling.  These days he is so much the stereotypical two year old.  I hate to say "terrible two," but I get where the phrase comes from.  He's so huggable and adorable and precious and delicious... until he's... not.  Until he loses his shit, usually over something that seems so minor.  Of course, to him it isn't minor.  I have to remember to respect that.