I have a little confession.
I'm not much into Halloween.
I don't dislike it, really. I just don't like it. I never even liked it as a kid. I have no particular reason why. I wasn't scared out of my wits by the neighborhood bully in a vampire mask. I didn't get an apple with a needle in it in my trick-or-treat bag (though one of my friends did).
I dreaded trying to put a costume together growing up. Even though I seemed enthusiastic the day the plastic masks - with the strings that always broke - arrived at the dime store, I really could have cared less. One year I bought a Raggedy Ann mask, one year a ghost, one year a princess. But most of the time I was a witch. It just seemed the easiest thing to do. **sigh**
I've never understood what Halloween is supposed to celebrate. I mean, Christmas celebrates the birth of Christ. Thanksgiving celebrates and Pilgims and the Indians. Valentine's Day celebrates the big pockets of Hallmark. But what about Halloween? What's up with walking around in the dark knocking on people's doors and yelling for candy?
And that's another thing. I don't like handing out candy. The first Halloween in our neighborhood I thought I'd be the consumate Halloween hander-outer and lowered the bowl of candy so the precious little ones could choose. One snotty little Princess grabbed herself a whole handful and ran off without even saying thank you. That was the end of that. The next year I plunked one piece in every one's bag. And don't even get me started on 14-year olds who come to the door with no costume.
I am well aware Adam may some day take great delight in Halloween. And I will suck it up, put on a happy face, and put my whole heart into costumes and candy, because I'm a good mama like that.
Until then, I am here to tell you...
My trick on Halloween is getting the heck out of dodge.
My treat: a plate of tacos and a large margarita.