Day 25 The jury's still out on whether or not I will survive the grade school haunted hallway that my FIVE YEAR OLD dragged me to. No joke, my heart is still racing (we made it out alive 90 minutes ago). I AM TOO OLD FOR THIS. As I ran out the back, screaming, "thank you, Jesus," I breathed such a sigh of relief that it was over.
AND THEN THE CHAINSAW.
That flippin' chainsaw. Why?
I made a beeline for the nearest bench and collapsed, Harper still squeezing my hand and laughing her head off.
"Oh mercy, Harper, give momma a minute. I need to make sure I'm alive."
Did I mention the haunted hallway was hosted by the middle school's National Junior Honor Society? A bunch of 11 and 12 year old smartypants. I assumed it would be SAFE for this 30-something mom, but OH NO. Middle schoolers are weird and awkward and the smart ones are even weirder. In other words, they are experts at making people FREAK OUT.
It was so bad at one point that they had to TURN THE LIGHTS ON for us.
And so goes life as the momma of a thrill seeker.
Ever since we made a costume stop at the Halloween store and Harper experienced the fright-then-giggle from things that go jump in the night, she has been begging me to take her to a haunted house. So when an announcement came home from Henry's school advertising a haunted hallway at the middle school, hosted by the NATIONAL JUNIOR HONOR SOCIETY, I thought, "Oh good. This will be good clean fun and safe for 5-year-old and momma alike."
And here's the worst of it. As we waited in line for our turn, we could hear the occasional scream from those who had gone before us. But the screams weren't constant, just a random screech here and there.
Until it was our turn. From the minute we turned the corner down that first hallway, it was one long wail (me) complimented by a rhythm of squeal-giggle-squeal-giggle (my little ghost hunter). THE ENTIRE TIME.
I have never.
We're home now. I've built myself a nest of comfort. My bed with my memory foam mattress and handmade quilt, my hot tea with honey, lights on all over the house, TV show blaring about cops catching bad guys and locking them up, my Anne Lamott books. It's all better now, Ali. That's what I keep telling myself. And my racing heart.
As for my Harper girl, she's cuddled up next to me, asking when we can go back.