I’ve established I am not a fan of bloody stumps on front porches.
That doesn’t mean we don’t have fun on Halloween.
The kids dress in costumes. The only reason I question the practice of costumes is because my children are incapable of picking a costume and sticking with it for longer than 5 minutes. That’s how they end up wearing hand-me-down, uninspired costumes.
I allow them to eat factory-produced, irredeemable, irresponsible, nose-thumbing, renegade and politically incorrect plastic-wrapped candies in fun sizes.
We go door-to-door in our neighborhood, shouting “Trick-or-treat!” just like kids in the olden days of the 1970s and the early 80s. It’s a good way to say hello to neighbors and feel the exhilarating snap of late fall under the stars. We’ve been to exactly ONE harvest festival and were not terribly impressed by the jostling, the crowds, the admission requirements, the Halloween is E-vil! sentiments.
The kids carry these treat bags crocheted by my mother-in-law. Each child has his or her own, personalized with names on the back. Establishing candy ownership is critically important. We’ve used them for almost 10 years of October 31sts. When I have a new baby, we get a new treat bag, although I don’t have Archie’s yet. That’s okay, he won’t be needing it until next year.
For dinner, I am serving this recipe. It’s melding nicely in the crockpot now and is an ode to mythical vampires, which do not exist and are not cute or swoonworthy.
We’ll wash down our vampire-repelling dinner with these:
Every year, we make a point to watch “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown” as a family. Watching Snoopy skulk behind enemy lines, swimming a river while mournful music plays, his howl at the change from happy to sad music at the party, Charlie’s bag of rocks, Linus’ devotion and appreciation of sincerity, Sally’s suspension of disbelief, Lucy’s redemption as a good big sister…it’s 30 minutes of deliciousness.
We carve pumpkins, light them, and put them on our porch on Halloween night. We haven’t lost one to smashing yet.
The kids go to bed talking about next year’s costumes, Booberry cereal, the house with the full-sized candy bars.
Ding-dong. Tradition at the door. I’m not going to give it a rock.
I want it to come back next year.
