Halloween crept backwards over a week. There was a party on the 23^rd, Seamus’s school parade on the 28^th, Booker’s the 29^th, and one in the neighborhood on the 30^th. Booker had plenty of time to develop costume envy, realizing Seamus’s Indiana Jones whip, hat and leather jacket were much cooler than his store-bought Batman.

The week was spent alternately sharing and feuding over Indy’s appurtenances. Seamus bore it as well as could be expected, happy just to have Booker playing with him, even if it meant giving up the whip for a while. The whip itself managed to hold out just through Halloween itself, snapping in half at its first November use, mid-morning on the 1^st.

In a last-minute flurry of enthusiasm for Halloween merchandising, the boys accompanied Jussara to the mall on the morning of the 31^st. They made up for it by spending the rest of the daylight (that is, pre-party at Finn and Ray’s, pre-trick-or-treat) hours up a tree, either in front of our house or in front of Max’s. It was in one of those moments, poised on a branch, his whip curled around the trunk, that Seamus informed me, “We saw stuffed animals that fought at the mall.”

I thought this unwholesome, and said so. Stuffed animals should not be fighting. Not fighting, he said, stuffed animals that fought.

They do what?

They fawt. But nothing comes out.

Oh. Now I understand. They fawt. Although I think he actually means that they buwp.