Last year at Halloween, I bought a metric ton of candy because I knew there were so many kids in our neighborhood. All of those kids must have stopped by our house during the first 45 minutes of trick or treating, while we were out with our kids. We had every single piece, minus four, left over at the end of the night. Add that to the loot my kids brought home and we were eating Kit Kats and mini Twix bars until this past June.
I had a plan this year. We live on base now and usually, base housing gets inundated with fun little people in search of treats. But, I’m smart and realized that we live on the end of the last street on base before you get to office buildings so I didn’t over do it. I bought two big bags of candy and tried to get ones that weren’t full of stuff I loved. We sat out with our neighbors and I think when kids came by, they only took from either my bowl or theirs, but not both. We had a lot of candy left over. A LOT. Again, add this to what my kids brought home and we are left with way more candy than we started with. Not only that but now I suddenly like Butterfinger bars and have a deeper love for Kit Kats than I do for our pet fish. People. This is not good for my behind. I need to get rid of this candy. I can’t very well throw it out. My conscious will get the best of me and all the thoughts of starving kids in Timbuktu will keep me up at night. I love nothing more than sleep (except maybe dark chocolate Twix…clearly, I need help) so I need another option. What in the world am I to do? I’ll tell you this. Next year, I’m not buying candy to hand out. I’m taking my kids out in the very beginning of the night and then we’re coming home and handing out what they’ve been given. Win, win.
My favorite part of the whole Halloween experience? At the first house we went to, we encountered some older kids and one of them had a scary costume on. My little Mickey Mouse (aka Brother) said, “Mama, he’s not for real, right? He’s just pretending?” I assured him that it was a kid dressed up like someone scary, not an actual monster with blood running down his face (as an aside: What gives? Why do 8 year olds need to look like they have been chopped to bits? Don’t kids that age still like Power Rangers?) As they passed us again, Brother ran ahead a bit to catch up with them screaming, “Hey! Hey, kid! You don’t scare me! You’re just pretending!”