Halloween was a success. By my metrics, anyway, which include things like: 1) Megan didn't fall ass-over-teakettle bounding down concrete patio steps in her too-long, hoop-y wedding dress and heels, and 2) Michael's nasty cough subsided long enough for him to trick-or-treat, and 3) The neighbor pulled a wagon with beers hidden in a blanket-covered false bottom, and 4) Michael got two lemonhead candies - big ones, shooter-marble-sized - which I promptly stole to enjoy next week when posting up at the end of some long creek bed, swale, cornfield, or finger of forest waiting for pheasants to fly out. Life is good.
Megan asked me repeatedly, "What are you going to be for Halloween, Dad?" She never seemed bummed that my responses were insincere or noncommittal, "I'm gonna be a Jedi," or, "I'm not sure Honey, what do you think I should be?" Her answer? A prince. She is so awesome. I think I better dress up next year. At least in an Elvis wig and sideburns and sunglasses. Not a prince but a king, the king. Or maybe my dad still has one of his old leisure suits, that'd be enough.
Megan is spelling an important word correctly now. Luv is Love. I prefer the former - which she's scribbled on several notes for me - but I've grudgingly endorsed the proper spelling.
Michael and I watched Iowa State pound Texas Tech on Saturday. On the road in Lubbock. The Cyclones just ran 'em over, 41-7. Over 300 yards rushing. I tried to conceal my surprise from Michael. I was pacin' and freakin' until it was almost like, dude, relax, even the Bears couldn't come back from this deficit. I sensed my nervousness had leaked out a tiny bit - like when I lept out of my chair and flexed and growled on touchdowns and turnovers - so for Michael's benefit, I nonchalantly mumbled a few things like, "Piece o' cake, on the road in Texas is ALWAYS a Cyclone victory." Whether Michael caught it as a reference to ISU's victory in Austin last year, as well, I'm not sure. The Cyclones were a freight train and I'm proud.
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