Growing up (and still today for yours truly), Halloween was the kick-off to a long-awaited holiday season.

Even at the tender age of 3, I’d cut a bitch.

Letting Dad do all of the carving work because even way back when my nails were “jewels, not tools”.  And how ’bout the back of the pumpkin matching our beautiful carpet?

In small Iowa town where I grew up, we had costume parties at school and church (when you used to be able to call it a Halloween party complete with witches and bats, instead of a bland Fall Festival with scarecrows and hay bales – why were party poopers invented? Why?), parades to prance proudly down our eight block Main Street (where every single one of the 1,200 citizens seemed to show up) and so much trick-or-treating mania, I’d have to come home halfway through the evening just to dump my candy (hiding it all from my dad in the dryer or it’d be gone by morning) because my pumpkin got so overloaded, it was too heavy for me to carry.

What better way to celebrate Halloween than to dress up as Cookie Monster and pedal your best lookin’ stuffed animals on a parade through town? Forget my adorableness for one second – what about the clown behind #165?

Spectator sport for the entire town (there’s still time for you to go this year). And let’s discuss my mom’s creativity with the cookie wheels… genius!

But in my younger years, I carried the burden of celebrating Halloween by myself and being a lone Cookie Monster got frustrating.

Lone monster.

Begging my parents to procreate, I was presented with my sister who was immediately awarded with side kickin’ it as my lifetime partner-in-crime (lucky her). If I was going to be dressing up (oftentimes making an ass out of myself in later years) she was going to be doing it too, by God (town parades included).

In the beginning of our twosome, we were all about cutesy costumes.

The rock star and Raggedy Ann. A little sugar for my spice.

And the ‘cute’ theme seemed to carry on in our early years. Except for the tilt in our heads. And the fog in the background…

Cute masked crusaders in Creepy Hollow.

As we got a little older, I wanted a little edge (well as much edge as an elementary kid and toddler could muster) to our giddy ups. I let my young inner badass out, as my sister scared the pants off no one.

That’s right. I was hardcore even in elementary school. My Fisher Price mobile cassette player really upped my ante of rockstardom.

We slid slightly into the creepy department as my sister joined me in grade school.

Scaredy crow and premature mini old man. Almost spine-chilling. Almost.

Then I graduated to truly frightening and fearful territory as I crept toward junior high.  Pebbles looks less than horrified as I try my best scare tactic on her.

I’m also starting to wonder if there was any other color of hair paint than green, since that tends to be a trend here.

When we thought we were oh so grown up, our costumes reflected our mature attitudes.

Lady and the Tramp. Or Princess and Sock Hop Girl…however you want to look at it.

But we were reminded in following years just how far from adults we were…especially yours truly. A recycled mask and costume from a previous Halloween hid my “I’m way too old for this shit” attitude toward trick-or-treating when I was forced to go with my younger sister.

I can’t tell who’s more excited – the monster or the witch.

And being older we’re not so much cute, cuddly or even scary creatures…we’re just mostly cocktailed.

The odd couple. Pocahontas and Kid Rock.

Now that we’re miles apart during the costuming time of year, it’s fun to look back at our sisterly ghosts of Halloween’s past. But what’s even more fun is seeing her twin goblins growing to love the holidays as much as she and I did as kids.

Permanent partners-in-crime scary season #1.

I can’t wait to see what the little monsters will be for their second Halloween.

Scary season round #2.

As we’re on the eve of Halloween, you should take a look at the old skeletons in your closet.

You aren’t a fraidy cat, are you?

CBXB