Saturday was our ward’s annual Halloween party. The youth were in charge, which means as a youth leader I was a part of the planning and implementation.
Pretty much, I have the best calling ever working with these beautiful young women.
Jamie and I wore our annual costumes. I was the pumpkin widow dressed in black (see my shirt) and Jamie was (what else?) a pumpkin.
It’s like art imitating real life. Every. Single. Day.
We just finished reading the 100th Anniversary edition of Wizard of Oz that I bought as a souvenir in Coronado Island. Much to my delight, Hadley shunned the pop culture costumes of many of her peers and opted to be Dorothy.
Bode, on the other hand? He spotted a Mario costume at the thrift store and the begging began. “Bode, you were Mario two years ago. Don’t you want to be _______” and I listed off a number of costumes. Obviously, I lost.
Blurry action shot eating doughnuts on a string
We had a spookiest appetizer/dessert contest so I whipped up a graveyard 7-Layer Dip. I got a ton of compliments on it but it was a result of improvisation. We didn’t have any refried beans so I used Madras Lentils (my fave wintertime lunch) and layered sour cream, cheese, green onions, salsa and guacamole. For the graveyard, I cut and baked some red chile tortillas into tombstones, a cat and a ghost.
I thought I did a pretty good job until I saw my friend Wendy’s entry.
Overachiever.
The young men were in charge of a haunted grove in the forest behind the church.
Teenagers with a real chainsaw = terrifying.
The young women stayed inside and oversaw all the carnival games.
Best. Bean bag toss. Ever.
And then there was the most unsanitary game of them all: bobbing for apples. In sixth grade, I had a Halloween party that will go down in infamy as The Best Party Ever and I still wear my Queen Apple Bobber Badge proudly. When the young women taunted me to do it, I rose to the challenge.
Or rather, bent way, way over for it. Haddie and Bode joined me and I dove in preparing to leave them in my salivated-apple-bobbing wake. When all of a sudden, I was being submerged way way way under. I flew up sputtering, only to realize my own husband dunked me.
It’s a good thing we drove separately; otherwise dude would have walked home.
Haddie ended up being the winningest apple bobber of the night. As it turns out, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Literally.
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 