Mother of the Year

For the past three years I have said to myself that the day after Halloween I would go shopping and pick up decorations for next year's festivities. I'll pat my thrifty self on the back for having saved on decorations and then I will be prepared for the holiday like everyone else three weeks in advance. My house will be adorned with ghouls that are cute and cheerful. Our doorway will be trimmed in skeleton lights. I'll pass out candy wearing friendly witch attire. Our windows will have paper kitties dressed up as pumpkins taped to them. And our pumpkins will be CARVED! 

Our little family will bond in the annual tradition of opening the tote labeled BE WARE. We will pull out cotton cobwebs, plastic spiders and a fog machine. Visions of fun sized snickers bars overflowing the GIANT candy bowl will make our eyes sparkle. We will wear eye patches and out the sides of our mouths say "arrrrg matey, hand over the candy or walk ye ol' plank." The children will look up at me with ear-to-ear chocolatey grins that will serve as my Mother of the Year trophy.

And year after year, I find myself in the discount aisle scattered with combed over decorations and unwanted bulk candies (can you say "root beer barrels") trying to ignore the sour feeling in my stomach. My visions quickly turn from tasteful to tacky. I hightail it out of there. I tell myself that the children are too young to form year long memories anyway. That NEXT year I'll be on the ball. NEXT year will matter. Next year I will go a month EARLY and our front porch could make Martha Stuart nod in acceptance. And year after year, this is what it comes to-

Two sad pumpkins we picked out either from a mall parking lot, or a banquet table at the local boutique. Not even from a real pumpkin patch. Not even carved.

Oh well. At least I still get the trophy....