My eager fireman and reluctant butterfly skipped and squirmed their way up the driveway. The fire fighter’s hands were full--the left holding Daddy’s hand, the right clutching the fire ‘mergency bag full of candy. The butterfly, being escorted home in Daddy’s other arm and thus concluding there was absolutely no use for her wings, was using every last hand, bootie and antennae to pry them off. Hence the squirming.

I asked Caed if he had a good time trick-or-treating. And he replied, “I was scared, but Daddy kept me safe. I went behind Daddy’s leg and he p’otected me. And then I got candy.” I guess even brave firefighters need someone to protect them sometimes.

The butterfly, now resigned to the fact that the wings were not coming off by any act of her own, gave me her “glazed-gaze” and implored me with her half-hearted kicks and cries to start the bedtime routine. And so Sheridan went off to bed, happy to be rid of her wings.

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