In my next life . . .

. . . I hope to be born as my granddaughter's child. She has a way of making every day an adventure for her son, and he thrives because of it. I'm sure he has no idea that every child isn't lucky enough to be born into a world so rich in imagination and opportunity.

Yesterday my granddaughter and her husband hosted a family-style Halloween party, and I was blown away by the festive atmosphere: the Halloween-themed food, the decorations, the activities she had planned for the children. Of course, the kiddies themselves were the best part of the event. They threw their little costumed selves into the spirit of Halloween without reservation. Running a close second to the kids were the costumed adults. It's wonderful to be part of a family in which responsible, hard-working, level-headed grown-ups are occasionally willing to throw seriousness aside and get in touch with their sillier sides.

Here we have Betty, Bam-Bam and Barney Rubble.

(Their best friends, who have a baby girl, came

dressed as Fred, Wilma and Pebbles Flintstone.)

Zombie Cop and Lady Pirate
(Zombie Cop explained that the "C.O.P."
on the party-store badge stood for
"corpse on patrol.")

"NO! I'm NOT Bam-Bam! I'm OWEN!"

Baby Monkey, Monkey's grandfather, Banana Tree, and Top Banana

After I dressed in my homemade costume, I was a little concerned that it might be too scary for the smaller children, but I needn't have worried. My granddaughter took one look at me and said, "Look, Owen! Grammy is dressed as the Itsy-Bitsy Spider."

On a side note, the only person at the party who was older than I am said, when she recognized me, "You look just like an old lady!" Ahem. I am an old lady. But I was wearing a disguise. I was supposed to look like an old black-widow spider.

This is Thai, dressed as a skeleton. Or else it's a skeleton, dressed as a pug.

I'm really not sure.

Owen's decorated playhouse was a big attraction before,

during, and after the organized games. (Using the term

"organized" loosely here; kids will be kids.)

All lined up and ready for a sack race.

The sack races were winding down as we said our goodbyes. We rounded the corner beside the workshop and met a small group of sack racers coming toward us. Owen was at the end of the pack. He was no longer wearing a sack, but he hopped anyway, lagging behind and smiling widely in the joy of the experience.

As I wrote above, it would be great to be my granddaughter's kid.