Trick or Treat. Smell my feet. Give me something good to eat. If you don't, I dont care. I'll pull daddy's underwear.

I tried my best this evening to teach Baby Boris how to best utilize his (inherited) stinky feet to get what he wants... or, should I say, get what I want; Candy. We were unsuccessful.

Yes, plenty of people offered the little pumpkin candy. But I couldn't, in good faith, allow my 9 month old to accept. I don't want to be that kind of candy-feeding mama, even if I was going to be the one to eat it.

So, we walked Woodsdale without result, checking out all the neighbors candy & costumes. I'm sure Zander will have wonderful dreams of hookers, robots & lady bugs.

Before we left for our evening stroll we decided to remind all of the swine flu piglets about the wonders of an apple a day...

Alexander, of course, needed no reminding.

As I was preparing our decorations/treats, A spotted the apples, charged & took little nibbles out of three before I could put the camera down to stop him.

And even after I gave the little monkey a clean one, he insisted on bobbing for a new one. Nibbling. And throwing it aside to pull out yet another.