10/22/2021
I wake up at 3 am to the sound of…. hammering? No, no. It’s just the neighbor behind us working on car with what looks like a bat and pry bar. Talking loudly to his girlfriend who is dutifully holding her cell phone flashlight while smoking a cigarette. I’m fairly sure these people are vampires. Very loud vampires. You never see them during the day. They come out in the dark of night and they are unreasonably loud from about 1 am until 3am. I suppose the witching hour would be appropriate for auto maintenance under their circumstances, but it drives me crazy.
I drag myself out of bed as late as possible—7:20, and wrangle our three dogs outside, not encouraging, but not stopping them from barking enough to wake a vampire. My husband is up already.
Most mornings my 10 year old has to be dragged by his feet to the edge of the bed and told to stand up.??He gets dressed and crawls back in until “its time”. But this morning, I have leverage. It’s time to try out the partially finished Halloween costume. Designed and directed by my child, it is really stretching the limits of my sewing and gluing capabilities. Looks great. So much more to be done.
We practice Caesar’s English words in the car—Temp, Media-root words. I have him quiz me, to see if I know them. That way he can correct me with what he knows. He has always been more receptive to playing “gotcha”.
Late for school, late for work. Everyone is late today.
Work is a flurry of activity. It’s a blur.
After school pick up, it’s the usual drive home with my child shoving his drawings in my face as I try to drive. He draws all the time. Upon arriving home, I discover there are 15 pencils that have accumulated in the backseat.
We do loop of grocery pick-ups and then I go to pick up my son’s best friend who basically lives with us on the weekends and then I will go pick up my niece. We are all going to Lil Spooky, a haunted barn just south of town.
Pick up child 1. He climbs into the car with a backpack and a briefcase—a freckled face 11-year-old with dark hair, a Pepsi addiction, and a big vocabulary. I can wager he’s packed nothing but game controllers and his computer. Never does this kid pack any clothes—I really thought he had learned last time when the puppy peed on him. We are regaled with stories of his recent grounding (a tragic tale of sort of-kind of-accidentally almost burning down the house when he decided to make cookies on his own) his recent trip to Kings Island and the usual 4-star review of middle school cafeteria offerings. My son informs him we are going to Lil Spooky, as we have done every year since he was two. He tells his friend that his favorite part is hiding behind my niece (who is a year younger than him but 20 years braver) when he gets scared.
We stop to get child 2–my niece. She’s wearing her mom’s Ball State hoodie that hangs to her knees and it appears that she’s put on blue eye shadow for the occasion. She’s 9 and all Tik Tok.??Walking to the car, she tells me that her favorite thing about Lil Spooky is when F hides behind her.
Lil Spooky—we’ve gone there every year (save for 2020) for the last 8 years.
Little Spooky is a big white barn on a modest farm just outside of town on Hoyt Avenue. Every year, they create a haunted house for children inside their barn which is free. One can imagine they spend the rest of the year preparing for the next—each year there is a little different theme. Taking their décor and changing it a bit to suit the purpose. It is delightful in some part due to the enthusiasm of the owner and the obvious work put into each new version.
The Chickening. The 11-year-old insists that he stay in the parking lot in the drizzling rain. He’s firm. Listen, he’s seen some things…things at the Kings Island Haunted House last weekend. He is NOT doing this.
I find myself in a familiar dilemma. Am I going to be the product of my early 1980s mother, the mother that hands you a Kool-Aid and Little Debbie cake and tells you don’t come in until the streetlights come on—or the mother of today—the one that pulls your mask over your nose and tells you to not get too close to those kids on the playground while watching your every move?
So I toss him my car keys and I say, if you need me push the alarm button. He takes it, shrugs and I leave him there. This is a weird age, where you have to let them be independent but also, they almost burn a house down when you do.
With the other two in tow, I enter the maze to go in the barn. A guide, dressed as Yoda, quickly snuffs out a cigarette when we approach. The owner, a pretty, older woman dressed like a pirate, warmly welcome the kids to the barn. Our guide, a smartly dressed younger pirate version of the first, leads us in.s The first room is easy…it’s a collection of cute and kitschy decorations—a fishbowl of skeleton fish, skeletons playing banjos, pumpkins and ghosts. The children are invited (after sanitizing hands) to push buttons on all the animated décor. Half of which no longer work.
The next is a hallway of black light murals of zombie pirates. My son is already reticent. He keeps interrupting the guide’s clever pirate banter by asking “Is something scary coming up?! Is something going to jump scare me??” By the next turn of the maze—a hallway that is nearly pitch black save for a few skeletons with lit eyes, he bails. I know what will happen next—my niece and I will finish the course and when he sees us step outside, he will let regret push him to ask for another go. I tell him to go stand with his friend and the car keys. We go on—through the brig, a pirate cannibal feast, the captain’s quarters which includes a modified animatronic Beetlejuice and finally, the last room that the guide tells us is where they behead traitors. The floor as you go out is set to be uneven and moves under your feet, just as you see the light outside. After one finishes the tour, there is a pirate chest of treats for each child to loot.
Sure enough, my son saddles up to us and asks to go again. I caution him that he has to see it through. We go again, along the way alternating between him interrupting the guide to ask if something scary was coming up or him just screaming. But he sees it through. This thing he’s been anticipating for weeks and suddenly totally afraid of—he did it. The 11-year-old is there, keys in hand. Tells us with gleam in his eye he saw a bunny.
We climb into the car and drive home. The kids file in and immediately decide to play Minecraft. They decide to stay, and we make sure they have phones, and the door alarms are set. Insisting that they answer the phone when we check in. I change, and B and I head to our friends’ house for a going away party for their daughter who is joining AmeriCorps. As we pull up to the house, a call comes through the car. It was my dad, but it cuts off.??When B calls him back, we learn it’s a butt dial—which is something my dad often does. A 15-minute call ensues and then we get to the party. There’s a bonfire out back. Lots of people we know. We give the party’s honoree a bouquet of flowers and chat with friends we haven’t seen in real life for over a year. Lots of catching up, well wishes for the one going away on her adventure.
It’s good to see familiar faces, to be in the same space but also to be outside where it feels safe. We drink mulled apple cider wine and stay warm by the fire—the fire at which our friend’s absolutely adorable and sweet 6-year-old is demonically chanting “sacrifice! Sacrifice!” as she shoves her smore into the flames. I help other random children with their smores and removing smore goo from their tiny hands when they are grossed out from the marshmallow. In between, we talk with guests.
The same 6-year-old who was shouting “sacrifice!” calls over the fence to a neighbor. We hear him answer back by beating on something to answer. We learn that he has had surgery and is unable to speak.
We message the kids back home and no answer—just as expected. So, we call. All is well (no cookies in the oven) and we decide to stay a bit longer.
Once we finally say goodbye and start for the car it is evident that neither of us should drive. We are about 12 blocks across downtown from our house and its cold. B phones our friend N, and she comes picks us up. Everyone needs a friend like that.
We eat dinner at 10 pm and go to bed.