In November the Snow Starts to Fly...Piling Up...Ankle High...

So long, October! We sent you out with such a bang, I'm not sure we're quite ready for November yet...

First up was The Boy's final football game. Apparently he's pretty good once he gets out on the field, except that this is his default pose:

(The Husband has to yell, "Pockets!" every three minutes or so.)

Then on Sunday was the Monster Dash. A beautiful morning! A ten mile race! COSTUMES! What's not to love?

I pulled out the ol' eyeliner and construction paper and dolled myself up as une petite chat.

This little cat ran a fan-TAS-tic race (if I am allowed to gloat a bit): 1 hour, 49 minutes. To put it into perspective, I ran 12.5 minute miles in the half marathon a few months ago, and this time I ran 11 minute miles. Yay me!

(A huge thanks to our sponsors - The Husband's parents: Official Childcare of PM Races. They came down to watch the last football game and very kindly ferried us around to various race points and The Boy to his game so that we could both run.

[Aside: We ran the same race, but not together per se. The Husband is blazing fast - so fast, we made sure we had two separate modes of transportation to get home because we knew he'd get to the finish line waaaaaay ahead of me.])

The next day, more costumes (although less racing). We convinced the kids to scrounge our existing costume stockpile this year - also yay!

The Boy went as Anakin Skywalker again. He's pretty handy with a light sabre.

I am not:

Despite only going out for an hour or so, there was a fairly major haul:

Of course, a peanut allergy and some fairly expensive orthodontic equipment (which I am not jeopardizing just so that someone can enjoy his Laffy Taffy) definitely reduced the winnings for one of our brood.

Alas, into every awesome weekend a little rain must fall, and ours came in the form of a dead television. Sharon C, our oh-so-helpful customer service agent suggested we plug it into a different outlet in the wall, after which advice she threw up her hands and said a service call was required.

So, The Husband had to find an alternate football-viewing experience:

Good times, good times....