This was the first year — youngest kid, age 7 — that the kids had the stamina to keep going until they exhausted the supplier potential. This year, we shifted from the cute little plastic Halloween pumpkin buckets to the pillowcase type, a decision I now deeply regret.
I distributed a huge amount of candy to neighborhood toughs, as Jim hauled the kids and a couple of extra hangers-on around the neighborhood. I was hopeful that we wouldn’t have any treats left in the house as I watched the contents of the bowl dwindle. Then the kids triumphantly returned home dragging their bags o’ booty — approximately 8 pounds per child. Sam dumped his all over the floor and celebrated the size of the pile, beholding the chocolatey, sugary goodness all around him; Abby counted every piece in her bag (she claimed it was a math assignment) and declared her total at 328; Hannah disappeared into her bag as she repeatedly dove head-first in search of chocolate.
I’m still trying to figure out how to prevent the inevitable candy-only diet that began this morning (“Hey, it’s 6:00 AM! Time for Skittles!”) Part of me wants to let them eat ’til they puke, thinking that maybe they’ll learn the hard way that moderation is best, even though I know it’s really no different than the time in the early 80’s when my family’s three dachshunds nosed open the refrigerator and had a bacchanalian puking/crapping ham and turkey festival all over the kitchen floor. Did they learn? No, they did it again at the very next opportunity.
Realistically, I’ll let the little monsters delight in their riches for a few days, then it will all mysteriously disappear into the trash. I know that’s cruel and painfully parental of me, but it’s the only way. Letting them keep it until it’s gone results in a situation similar to life in a crack house.
Not coincidentally, I stocked up on wine yesterday.
Oh yeah, good times.