Superhero

Boo Yah 2015

Halloween is, by far, my favorite holiday. There is something about dressing up as something or someone different that feels fun. It captures everything good about childhood imagination and makes it socially acceptable for adults to participate. Yes please.

Last year we went as My Little Ponies and it was lots of fun. Mostly for the wayward looks from other adults when a Rainbow Dash with five-oclock-shadow came lumbering up to the front door and said, “trick or treat”. A man at one of the houses stared at me all wide-eyed and asked, “You have four little girls?” To which I said, “Yes.” Then he asked if they made me dress as a pony which I again replied affirmatively. He shook his head side to side and said, “That’s the scariest shit I’ve seen all day.”

Cold blooded fear.

Cold blooded fear.

This year wasn’t quite as scary. In fact, I got to go as my alter-ego – Underdaddy. Which I guess is the main ego if you are reading this on the Underdaddy website but anyway. My youngest sister got me an official uniform for Christmas last year and it fit with our Halloween theme of superheroes.

We asked each of the girls what they wanted to be if they could choose their own superpower. Jane said she wanted the power to talk with animals. She got the costume of “Animal Girl”. Prima wanted to be super-fast so she got to be “Lightning Girl”. Don Threeto wanted the power to change into different animals, I assume this would assist in the commission of a crime or maybe it is just generally awesome. She became “Beast Girl”. Lady Bug said something completely unintelligible. It was somewhere between a grunt and a scream so we made her “Question Mark Girl”. Supermom and Underdaddy were kind of set in stone.

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I thought it was really cool that they each chose those superpowers because if you ask me, they already possess the skills they most admire. Jane is immersed in animals and is very good with them already. Prima is very quick witted and a fast learner. Threeto has the smooth acting skill of a Dustin Hoffman or a Johnny Depp – when she tells a lie she is committed to the part. Lady Bug is our little unknown, she keeps us guessing.

We decided to streamline the costumes a little for economy because we are poor people and Halloween is about candy and fun not Hollywood level special effects. Everyone would have the same basic costume; all black sweats and socks. Then the capes and masks would be different colors and have our own symbols. Like the ninja turtles but instead of being mutant turtles underneath the masks we would be cat burglars. I stopped at a gas station with only my sweats and the attendant was a little nervous that I was dressed in all black. I don’t know if the cape would have helped or not.

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Supermom is sporting some pearls like a true southern queen.

Trick or treating went well. I mean it was raining and we went to a neighborhood where the Home Owners Association requires six thousand steps as an approach to the front porch but all-in-all it was a fun time. We teamed up with some cousins that we don’t see very often and made some memories in the rain.

A noble assembly. Candy will be gotten.

A noble assembly. Candy will be gotten.

I didn’t do a great job educating the girls on Trick-or-Treat etiquette. We went to one house with decorations but no one was home. They knocked politely but after about ten seconds of no one coming to the door they had a frenzied moment of attempted breaking and entering. They were convinced that there was candy just beyond the door and we had been to three houses with no one home. This one had decorations dammit! There has to be candy! One started working the door handle back and forth while another rang the doorbell like an air raid siren. The third one was looking through the windows from the bushes and I think my forth child was trying to break into the soffit vent. I rushed to the front door while expecting to hear glass breaking at any second. “Guys, guys… We arent rescuing candy that has been kidnapped. This is just an empty house. There is more candy.” Luckily the next few houses were occupied and fully staffed for Halloween activities.

As far as the candy production, we were in the right spot. This neighborhood was definitely a place of first world problems because I have never seen so many full sized candy bars given out in my life. One house had a wicker basket with assorted Hershey, Reese’s cups, Snickers, or Payday’s in neat little rows like an upper middle class vending machine. I remember sorting through Smartees and Milk Duds and being left with this Halloween mulch of inedible candies. Not this time. Each bucket is full of awesome candy, When Jesus returns, he might decide to stick around and raise a family just to go trick or treating at this place. In fact, three of the houses were already decorated for Christmas with fully lit trees and wreaths on the door. Maybe the neighborhood is campaigning for that scenario.

Candy Hangover.

Candy Hangover.

We finished up the night by letting the girls eat too much of their candy and allowing them to spin in screaming circles for about three hours. Then we drove home and got in about mid-night. This morning I was reminded of my place in the sub-urban food chain by my “decorations” on the front sidewalk. They are the scariest pumpkins ever. They exude death, decay, and neglect. They scream out “Beware to all who enter. This is where things go to die.”

I dare you to smash them. Trick or treat indeed. Ha ha, now you have the plague.

I dare you to smash them. Trick or treat indeed. Ha ha, now you have the plague.

Maybe I will scrape them off in time for Thanksgiving. Maybe.

If you love the holiday but lack the effort that is required to be awesome, this post is for you. You’re welcome. We all know it is about the candy anyway.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Superhero Lovechild

It is a plausible theory that my children were actually fathered by Mr. Fantastic of the Fantastic Four. He is the guy with a super rubbery body which doesn’t seem like much of a super power until everyone is locked in a room and he squeezes under the doorway. I’ve needed that power in a parking lot more than once. Anyway, part of his elastic superpowers must have been passed to his illegitimate half-breed children that I am now helping raise.

I suspected this infidelity at the very first birth. In fact, the first few seconds of this child’s life. I didn’t think I wanted to watch the big moment but when it came around I couldn’t look away. The doctor stumbles in fresh from his nap, slaps on some gloves and plops down in the rolling stool. “Here comes the head.”, he announces with all the excitement of a teenage girl at a family reunion. I’m glad he pointed out what I was looking at because I thought it was a furry bag full of Gameboy cartridges. There were edges and depressions, a real moonscape. That thing wasn’t even close to round. Sure enough she popped out and popped into place like a transformer, like an unfolding piece of vaginal origami. This seemed really odd to me but the doctor assured me it was normal. I’m sure he was paid off by Mr. Fantastic.

Note: People say birth is beautiful. False. It may be miraculous or interesting or emotional but it isn’t beautiful.

Things went pretty smoothly for a while but each seemingly scary injury would turn out to be nothing. I personally witnessed child One close all her fingers in a door that latched. I panicked like any good parent would and immediately thought, “How will she learn to count with only six fingers? Good thing we aren’t on the metric system. What kind of nicknames would the other kids give her? Mittens? Would she accidentally hitchhike when she tried to wave at passing motorists?”. It was a really weird reaction but I just witnessed a set of fingers get chopped so don’t judge me from some ten-fingered moral high ground. When I sprung the door the fingers were red but all still attached. Amazing.

Another time I witnessed her running circles around the living room. I had barely let out the warning against running when, of course, she trips. The velocity towards the couch and the angle that she fell was perfect. Her face connected with the bottom edge of the couch and bent her head backwards while her body fell flat on the floor. Her neck was bent at a nearly perfect ninety degree angle for a good two seconds. My heart stopped immediately and I once again thought horribly inappropriate things. My mind screamed at me that I had broken my child. Once again, like the terminator rising from the dead, she rolled over and snapped back into place no worse for the wear. Now it is getting creepy.

The icing on the cake is her weird “trick”. I learned about this trick while discussing my manly past. I was showing the girls how my ring finger bends backward at the middle joint, a byproduct of a harrowing flag football injury. I also got a broken rib from the very same gladiator level game. The only interesting byproduct of that injury is a requirement to sleep on my right side. Probably should get that checked. Back on track – child One was unimpressed with my free range finger and boldly stated, “That’s nothing daddy watch this.” She stood straight up and turned her left foot inward continuously until it was a full 180 degrees out of place. I know it has been a while since geometry for most of you so a refresher on 180 degrees. The. Opposite. Direction. If her brain told both feet to walk she would just spin. That was enough evidence for me.

My lawyer is filing the necessary papers and that silly putty bastard better be ready with my sweet cash. I’ve seen the movie and I know he is wealthy. I just want a piece for raising what is obviously his child.

Mr. Fantastic, if you are reading this we can settle out of court. Superhero to semi-hero.

To the other parents who suspect that you have been fooled by this home wrecker. The evidence is in. You’re welcome.

Underdaddy to the rescue.