Terrifying Statistics

October is a time of sacrifice and supplication for us. We sacrifice our fingertips to the pushpin gods and plead daily with the muses of dreadful décor just to entertainment you. Yes, Halloween for us means throwing our customary gigantic party and all the work that that entails. We put our lives on hold in order to deck out two floors of our house for this shindig. We start arranging prizes, ordering medals, and sewing costumes as early as August. It’s a massive job. What is wrong with us?

Jason and I dressed as Zuko and Katara from The Last Airbender this year. Unfortunately, I forgot to wear the betrothal necklace I spent a lot of effort making perfect. What a dummy.
Medusa was the centerpiece of our front room. We made sure she had plenty of snakes in her lair including a striking rattler.

This year marked our thirteenth time attempting this task. In honor of that woeful anniversary let me share some startling party stats that might have you screaming in disbelief or not screaming in incomprehension. Since the collection of decorations we use for our party varies slightly each time these stats aren’t necessarily exactly representative of every year but they should give you an idea of the magnitude of our undertaking:

The normal number of attending guests? 35-70. This year we had 66; that’s close to a record.

The adult to child ratio at our party? The number of kids in attendance annually increases at a rate proportional to the proliferation of offspring but right now about 38% of our guests are children.

The number of Rubbermaid storage bins used to stow our decorations? 24. We also have quite a few cumbersomely-large items that just won’t fit in containers.

Jason’s sister Carley walked away with the prize for best costume with her amazing Bender outfit.

The average amount of time Jason and I spend on party preparations? This year in the week before our bash alone we spent roughly 35 hours apiece arranging cobwebs, designing creepy scenes, creating a custom playlist, optimizing lighting, and removing our normal furnishings. Since there are two of us that means that 70 man-hours of labor went into those finishing touches. Keep in mind that that’s about a third of the complete time we consumed getting ready for this thing. So if I had to guess I’d say that we’re looking at something in the ballpark of over 200 hours in total prep. That does not include the time it takes to clean up and take down everything so add on another 50 hours, which makes 250, and you’re probably close to our entire time investment. Would you put that much effort into a gathering that only lasts a few hours? I think not. That’s what makes me and Jason so special and so stupid.

The last couple years the number of players has exceeded our stash of Bingo cards so sharing has been necessary.
Jason did a great job creating his Zuko scar with latex, tissue paper, and cream makeup only he put it on the wrong eye.

The number of strings of lights hung? 73. Yes, just putting up the lights for our party takes an enormous amount of time.

The number of ravens? 39. Jason’s a sucker for the crows.

The number of rats? 11. That’s a tragically small number. Who called the Pied Piper?

The Browns had great Toy Story costumes for which they won a prize.

The number of candlesticks? 39. Most of these are battery or outlet powered. Open flames, little kids, and Jeremy Rowley: that sounds like the makings of my own personal horror movie.

The number of pumpkins? 25. From the friendly to the sinister these are a Halloween necessity.

The number of skulls? 89. No, that is not a typo.

We were a little concerned that this hanging creeper might be a bit too much for the small tikes but I didn’t hear any screaming so I guess it was alright.

The number of tea lights? 28. Tea lights are essential to generating a spooky atmosphere while simultaneously creating focus on specific areas.

The number of eyeballs? 97. You were being watched.

The number of creepy cloths? 28, some of which are over 16 feet long. That amount does not include the yards and yards of cheesecloth we use every year. It would be too hard to tally up our cheesy bits because we use dozens of pieces in every room.

The final frontier of costuming.
The way I arranged the mantle this time might possibly be my favorite of any year.

The number of bats? 38. You can’t create creep without suspending some rodents.

The number of camouflage nets? 14. Jason loves these. I think he would form a swamp in our basement too if I’d let him.

The number of spiders? 52. You can never have too many spiders.

The number of batteries used? 88. It literally takes us half an hour to turn everything on before our party and even then there are always a couple lights or devices that get forgotten.

All three of the Rowley kids went home winners.

The number of creative geniuses behind this affair? 2. Okay, so we may not be creative geniuses but forming a unique atmosphere every year is quite the originality challenge. We never display our eerie decor the same way twice and that makes arranging everything significantly harder. My brain hurts just thinking about it. Jason and I are either ambitious or ludicrous…probably both. We do make one fantastic duo though. We keep working at the spookifying together until it’s done. We don’t get ornery with each other and we don’t slack off. I couldn’t make it through this madness without Jason and he definitely couldn’t do it without me. We are the best team ever!

Tonya and Abigail made a bewitching pair.

The festivities this year were another success. We had nearly a record number of attendees and a greater throng of kids than ever. My thanks to all of you that were part of that large mass of humanity. It’s rewarding to hear that so many of your children look forward to this event like they were waiting for Santa Clause.

Fran won a prize for her imaginative interpretation of a ladybug on a leaf.

And the costumes this time? Fantastic. I’m amazed at some of the things you people came up with. We had Totoro, Bloo, La Forge, and Bender present. The competition was pretty cutthroat so anyone that won should definitely take pride in their victory.

At our party Captain America finally reunited with his girlfriend Peggy Carter. I don’t think he was expecting her to have aged backwards though.

I’d like to shout out a big thank you to the kind individuals that aided in the maintenance of our sanity. Becca and Nicole assisted us during the party. Awesome! And Cameron, once again, came back after his kids were dropped off to help us sort out our kitchen disaster. Also awesome!

This mummy hand was one of the few new editions to our decor this year.
I’m not sure how my mom convinced my dad to don red yarn.

Owing partly to that help our event didn’t make us completely crazy but, days after the festivities, Jason and I are still totally exhausted. Yet we have a whole lot of take down and pack up left to do, which will probably take us weeks to finish. We survived another huge party production though and I’m pretty sure that some of you enjoyed yourselves at our shindig. So I’d say that at least a few of the ridiculous number of hours we spent on our gathering were justified. Two hundred and fifty though? Maybe not.

MuckTales

I think somewhere in the scriptures it says, “He who is not dirty let him become as a little piggy.” No? Well, I’m sure it’s going to make the next edition.

Jason and I did the Dirty last week with Abigail, Jeremy Rowley, my brother Drew, and his wife Simone. The Dirty Dish is a filth fest for runners. It’s really more about freeing yourself from acceptable hygiene practices than getting exercise. As you slosh your way through a 5 or 10K, whichever you’re tough enough for, you’ll find yourself in slimy pits, on top of muddy ramparts, or in the midst of a stinky lake.

I made duck feet and feathery tails for me and Jason. They went from pristinely clean to filthy in just five minutes.

Most members of our team were Dash veterans so they knew what we were in for. We expected muck in places where the sun don’t shine and being worn out beyond reckoning. We were surprised by one thing though: this year’s obstacles were a lot wetter. The water to dirt ratio was significantly higher than last time; there was less soggy soil and more pools of filth. We were in one of the first groups out the chute so the temps up in Soldier Hollow were still in the 40s and all those puddles were awfully cold. Most of us had numb hands and arms after our first dip but we kept moving to discourage our chilled extremities from giving ideas to the rest of our bodies.

You had to either go over or under these pipes. Under was a guaranteed mess but over was more precarious.

The slop ‘n slide was sloppier this year, so naturally more fun.

Another change for me from last year was the condition of my ankle. Tearing my tendon 3 months ago meant that this time I had to contend with a testy foot. Thanks to my injury I couldn’t just jump into the murky depths, I had to carefully navigate my way through them so as not to damage my tendon any further. That caution and instability made me feel infinitely weaker, a bit like an old lady, a curious state for an unabashed mud seeker. But even with all that extra care my ankle was still pretty aggravated with me after the run. I guess there’s just no pleasing some tendons.

Simone bypassed quite a few obstacles so she didn’t look like she had fallen into the vat of Hershey’s extra chunky chocolate that had swallowed the rest of us.

Jeremy, Drew, and Jason were giggly with delight throwing globs of mud at each other.

This year we continued our juvenile costuming tradition by naming our team MuckTales and dressing like ducks. Yes, MuckTales is a play on DuckTales, that Disney cartoon you watched incessantly when you were a kid. Jason and I came as two of the triplets. I believe we were Dewey and Louie but don’t quote me on that. However, you can quote me on this universal truth: sopping sweatpants make running really uncomfortable. The white sweatpants Jason and I wore to represent our duck feathers were a very bad idea. They absorbed all that muddy liquid like sponges and we came out of each trench about 15 pounds of gross sludge heavier. You don’t know chaffing until you’ve sprinted while sporting gritty dripping sweatpants. Although most of the other participants didn’t seem to recognize our characters, everyone caught on that we were ducks except for a delirious couple that thought we were piggies for some reason. (The feathers and beaks didn’t clue you in?) I guess with all our layers of goo we probably looked more like sewer treatment pond scrapings than anything else.

Our group, with the exception of Simone, looked like we had been dredged up from the bottom of a bog by the time we crossed the finish line.

We had a lovely grubby time running the Dirty Dash again. It was a bit chilly and I think our whole group was still cold hours later from that foul freezing water but it was all worth it for the chance to completely put aside cleanliness and see Jeremy get hit in his open mouth with a mud bomb. I will long treasure my mucky memories and the grime I keep digging out of my toenails. Dirt and fond recollections are the gifts that just keep on giving.

You Can Canoe

Not too long ago my parents bought a canoe. They could be planning on being extras in The Very Last of the Mohicans but I’m pretty sure the purchase had more to do with their proximity to a navigable lake and their bunch of energetic grandkids.

The men took a manly journey in the canoe together wearing tiny life vests.

Jason and I took our maiden voyage on this worthy vessel during the Labor Day weekend. My brother Will was visiting from Idaho so he supplied the eager kids while we supplied most of the manpower. The majority of our nieces and nephews were enthusiastic sailors but Porter, who recently turned 13 and therefore suffers from teenagerness, did not want to row the boat. This made him an excellent candidate for teasing and involuntary labor. Jason and Will forced him to paddle solo on their return voyage across the water just because he didn’t want to. Complaining ensued and consequently more compulsory rowing. Few joys in life equal that of annoying a grumbling adolescent.

Unlike Porter, I’d classify canoeing as a relaxing activity even as the oarsman. And, incidentally, I’m ready for my call from Daniel Day-Lewis. Anytime he wants me to start paddling I’m set.