Cuteness On a Stick

It's nights like this that make all the other not-so-successful nights worthwhile.

Also, a surplus of bite sized Kit Kats and Twix bars don't hurt either.  Especially when there are so many of them in my kids' trick-or-treat bags that a glut few of them disappearing will go unnoticed.

But I digress.

Ahhh, Halloween.  You sucked last year, my friend.  You, with your carefully practiced trick-or-treat social skills pragmatic that quickly went to hell in a hand-basket.  You, with your bright, shiny treat bucket that remained pitifully all-but-empty when little C decided he was absolutely not interested in participating in this confusing, stress-inducing lunacy, thank-you-very-much.  We spent last year riding you out inside of the truck pulling a hayride for all of the other kids enjoying your festivities, with hands planted firmly over our ears.

Little C literally, me participating in spirit.

(I really, really wanted to, but figured it would probably look pretty weird, and somebody had to hold it together.)

This year, though--this year you pulled through for us, Halloween.

This year, little C was so excited about his costume (Cars 2, natch) that I was half convinced he was going to pass out the first time we put it on him.  We had to hide like it was a Weapon of Mass Destruction in the days before his first party, but it was worth it to see his face.

I am never taking this off.  EVER.

Then, by some miracle, Big C's behavior in school improved enough to ensure that he would, in fact, be trick-or-treating this year.

It was a close one, folks.

Halloween night arrived, and my baby SHINED.  The same kid that whimpered and hunched over in my lap last year couldn't ditch me fast enough this time.  He ran merrily after his brother, from house to house, chirping "Trick or Treat!" like a champ.  Sure, he was a little confused on the three-step process at first ( 1)"Trick or treat!" 2) Accept Candy 3) Say "Thank you," and proceed to the next house, in case you were wondering).  But we got it, people.

The neighbors--of course--thought he was the cutest thing ever, and didn't for a second think he was anything other than completely typical.

Which was great, except I totally wanted to act like a lunatic and tell everyone within hearing distance, after each visit, "He's autistic.  He just said TRICK OR TREAT, then took ONE PIECE of candy, and THEN SAID THANK YOU.  THIS IS MONUMENTAL."

It seemed a little anticlimactic to just wave and smile politely, then move on to the next house.

In the fray, with the rest of the hooligans

In short, tonight was a success, and I am ridiculously grateful for it.  Both children had a blast, I didn't lose either of them, and there's enough chocolate in my house at this moment that I should be able to siphon pieces off for weeks undetected.

WE WIN THIS ROUND, AUTISM.