The Boys: October 2008 Archives

The other day the boys carved pumpkins and we set them out on the deck. Ewan was proud of his pumpkins, especially the diminutive pumpkin into which he carved a clumsy smiley face. The next morning while leaving for a playdate, Ewan shrieked and began to cry: by walking outside he had interrupted one of our notorious backyard squirrels furiously digging the face out of his little jack-o-lantern. Liam fetched his empty BB gun and raced to get a good shot but the squirrel had disappeared by then. All that remained was a small, disfigured jack-o-lantern. It was pitiful. Ewan held his pumpkin and wailed, Liam kept a watchful eye on the tree limbs nearest our deck, and I stood and watched them both - consumed equally by laughter and sympathy. I lied promised Ewan that we would fix his pumpkin and we could even carve a new one. After a few minutes, Liam lowered the barrel, walked over to Ewan, and imparted a major life lesson: "Bub, sometimes you get your way. And sometimes a squirrel scratches your pumpkin's face off. Life just isn't fair all the time."

A noble profession

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When we had friends over the other day Ewan answered the door dressed as the Grim Reaper. He doesn't know how to tie his shoes, nevermind that Halloween is this month. Whereas the majority of boys like to dress up as cowboys, astronauts, or any other superhero designed to inspire children to greatness, Ewan loves to dress up as the Harvester of Souls. He even has a sickle:

Chris and I are weird, but come on, we're not that weird. There's this Wii game called Boom Blox in which you can construct castles, houses, etc., place characters in the scene, click play, and they all do battle. It's Liam's favorite game and Ewan likes to sit and watch him play it. One of the game's characters is a farm animal dressed up as a Grim Reaper. Ewan calls him Grim, and when dressed up as his new idol, insists that he be called Grim as well.


I am sort-of blamable; I stopped by Target one afternoon to get toilet paper and the boys dragged me over to the Halloween display. Ewan fell in love with a plastic sickle and begged for it, even offered to buy it himself with the four dollars in his dinosaur wallet.


"It's like Grim's, mama," he enthused.


We walked out with toilet paper and the sickle.


For the past two weeks he's about his day wearing a black graduation robe bequeathed unto him by his cousin; he pulls it over his head like a hood, grabs the sickle, and puts around the house breathing like he has emphysema.


"Is that what you're going to be for Halloween?" asked a friend of ours.


"NO," Ewan hissed menacingly. "IS WHAT I AM."

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Dana asks: "Thanksgiving Traditions: Yours or Your Mother's?"