Trick or Treat

We tried for weeks to convince Annie to wear her Winnie the Pooh costume that I had purchased at a second-hand shop for Halloween. Oh, she loves Pooh! She dragged that limp, lifeless Pooh all over the house all month. She sent him on numerous trips down her little slide, she lounged with him on her sofa. I got tired of seeing him lay around doing nothing, so I made him useful by flattening him out in front of the fireplace- our own bear rug! Time and again, despite much pleading and coaxing and cajoling, Anne adamantly refused to don her new best friend as a costume. I went as far as to to wear him myself (as best I could) but she was unswayed.

By October 31, I had given up. In one last shameless effort, I told Anne that unless she wore the Pooh costume, she would have no Halloween candy from the big orange bowl she longingly eyed. I'm a softie, so when she cried I gave her a sucker and sent her upstairs with Grandma for a bath. After bath, when Grandma tried to wrap Anne in her hoodie towel, she freaked out: "No! No!" until Grandma showed her that it was no trick- not the costume again, just a towel.

Anne enjoyed greeting the trick-or-treaters at the door. She watched from the window as they approached, and each time I bolted to the ring of the doorbell, she followed behind me. Some of the costumes were scary, so she clung to Grandma. Costume or not, she enjoyed her second Halloween.

Two nights later we planned to go out to Biaggi's with Grandma before she left town. As we prepared to go, Grandma said jokingly, "Okay, Annie! Time to put your coat on... Or your costume!" Anne nodded, "Costume," she said. "Really, Annie, you want Grandma to put on your costume?" Grandma was incredulous. "Costume," Annie repeated. Sure enough, Annie became Pooh, and she wanted to wear it to dinner! Of course we let her, and our sides split with laughter as she repeated, over and over, on our way to dinner, "Trick or Treat!" She wouldn't wear Pooh for Halloween, but Anne has worn that costume nearly every day since then, often getting red in the face before she allows us to take it off.

"Are you Pooh?" I ask her, so pleased to get my $15 dollars worth. "No," she says, "Bob." Ah, yes. Sponge Bob came to our door, and apparently she prefers the name. "Bob" likes to crawl in bed with me in the morning and read books. When I read the Pat-a-cake book, she assists her doggie in carrying out the patting and rolling. When we turn on the music in her room, she runs to the closet looking for her "Dancing hat." Then doggie, mommy, and dolly also get hats, and we all dance around to the Baby Boogie cd from Champaign Library.

Yesterday morning when I turned on her music, I looked down to see a freshly picked booger on the tip of Anne's pointer finger. Yes, it's gross. So I quickly handed her a tissue. After wiping her hand, she then "picked" doggie's nose, and instructed me to wipe dolly's nose. I finally got it: Booger is not the nicest word, so I tell Anne they are "boogies." ("Let mommy wipe that boogie from your nose, Anne.") So when I asked if she wanted to listen to Baby Boogie, she was busy picking one while I put on her music. Toddlers. They don't miss a single thing.