Fright night

Last Halloween, our next door neighbor was shot in the leg by a maniac while she was walking her dog. This year, the festivities were much tamer. Henry has been on tenterhooks for days, although he had no intention of wearing a costume or going trick-or-treating. In the end, he walked along with me to three neighbors' houses and hid in the bushes while James and I got enough treats to share. He had a thoroughly grand time back home, though, plopping fistfuls of candy into other kids' bags. James, too: He wasn't allowed to disburse candy but he stomped around the porch in his jack-o'lantern vest, doubling over and crowing in delight at the hubbub.

Boo!

Peter picked a pumpkin costume for James, on account of his
proprietary interest in  the runt pumpkins we are growing in the yard.

Mom came over this morning dressed as a ghost. She got exorcised. 

Meanwhile, I am experiencing yet another flare-up of anxiety, my old familiar goblin.

A spot of archaeology

"Mommy, Mommy, do you want to see?" called Henry this morning from the front porch.
I came to see.
He and James opened up a shoe box and unpacked a dead barberry branch.
"It's a dinosaur mouth bone!"
"Wow!" I said.
A minute later, I was summoned again to see.
"What is it?"
"Look!" Henry said. "I was digging in the dirt and found this little baby!"

The exhibits