Trick or Treat?

When my kids first started trick or treating I’d get them into their adorable little costumes and take them around to all the houses where, carrying their plastic pumpkins, they’d bravely approach each door, ring the bell, exclaim, “Trick or treat!” and collect their candy.

Then, like any responsible parent, I’d get them home, we’d empty the plastic pumpkins into each kid’s pile to inspect the seals, and of course remove the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

“Reese’s are not for kids,” I told them.

This was fine for several years, until I had to work one Halloween and my traitorous mother took them out instead. After checking the candy, the kids handed her their Reese’s cups.

I got home to what was essentially two six year-olds with crossed arms tapping their feet.

“Mom, you lied to us. Situ¹ says kids can have Reese’s cups!”

“I didn’t lie,” I explained. “I didn’t say kids couldn’t have them. I said they ‘weren’t for children.’”

“Why?” they demanded.

“I really like Reese’s cups,” I explained.

It was at this point the difference in my children became crystal clear.

“Mommy,” scolded Thing 2, “you should have been sharing.”

I looked at Thing 1, who was in deep thought. He turned to me and asked, “When I have kids, can I tell them Milky Ways are not for kids?”

This year I spent Halloween in my new hometown, where dressing up is an art form and celebrating is taken seriously.

Those on my Facebook feed will know that the Beagle handled glowing inflated monsters, plushies reaching for her, blowing tassels, the ghost on the electric scooter, a school of sparkling sharks, Charlie Brown who screamed, “My Snoopy!” and so many other creatures with aplomb, but was terrified by a handful of portly, middle-aged bees carrying laser guns. We ducked into a store where an Auntie gave her compensation cheese, and then we returned home for cuddles and a giant chew. There was no more going out Halloween night.

But then, on our walk in the early morning hours, all was right again.

A mostly-naked, bearded angel rode by on a bicycle, followed by a cop in pursuit that may or may not have been a real cop in pursuit, or another late-night reveler, or some straggler from leather week. They were both silent.

A careless furry face lay on the sidewalk, and the beagle pounced, immediately vanquishing her foe.

She carried it for a block or so until a napkin caught her eye. She dropped the furry face, ate part of the napkin, dropped the napkin when she saw a box of candy, rushed to that, gobbled up and then, with a buffered pause, spit out a Red Hot, and looked at me for a solution.

I gave her a few pieces of kibble, the equivalent of a tortilla chip after a hot pepper, and we continued on our way.

I’ve never noticed before how close to the Presidential election Halloween falls, maybe because no other election has been this scary.

A few days ago I called and asked Thing 2 and his partner if they’d come down for the election. I realized I’d be alone here for it, and although I knew I could go to any bar and have people around, it would feel safer to have family nearby, as ridiculous as that seemed. They agreed, and they’re here for a couple of days.

In five days, Thing 1 will turn thirty. He’ll be driving into the city to attend a funeral, but I won’t be seeing him as he’s only there for a short while before returning to Maine, and fitting me in felt like one more obligation I didn’t want to impose on him. His brother will leave here and go up to him to celebrate.

So there is continuity. There is Halloween candy in a bowl on my table, though of course I put aside most of the Reese’s. My children are building their lives and including each other, which means the world to me.

Tonight and tomorrow we’ll learn which kind of fight lies ahead, but we know there will be a fight, and that is very scary.

Today I’ll walk the beach, drink some tea, and remember to breathe. Maybe some compensation cheese and a few cuddles.

1. Grandmother in Lebanese