Halloween fib makes it hard to keep Kit-Kat in the bag
By Beth Teitell
Tuesday, November 4, 2003
Am I a fun person?
To the extent I've given the question much thought, I've always thought, Yes, darn it, I am. I might have other faults - OK, I do have other faults - but a deficit in the fun department isn't one of them.
However, after you've concealed the fact that it's Halloween from your own children - children who own astronaut outfits, I shudder to mention - it's time to face certain truths about yourself.
Such as: "My name is Mommy, and I scared myself last Friday.''
Yes, there are reasons why I didn't take my kids trick-or-treating - my husband was working and I was worried about a managing a 3-year-old and a 2-year-old on my own, particularly when I would have been in a nervous state, given all the candy at stake - but criminals always have their little excuses, don't they?
The thing is, I almost got away with it, too. It was 6:50 on Halloween night, and no word of the holiday had penetrated my home. I was about to put my younger son to bed when the doorbell rang.
Like a prison escapee hiding out in someone's home, I knew the buzzer wasn't good news.
"I'll get it, you two stay here!'' I practically yelled, but they would have none of it. "Who is it, Mommy?''
I looked out the window. An adorable purple princess was outside. She might as well have been Freddy or Jason.
I let her into the vestibule. "I'll be right back,'' I said, heading for the hidden bag of Milky Ways as my kids pushed past me to greet the visitor.
To my horror, I heard a conversation starting:
Older son: "I was an astronaut for Halloween.'' (He was thinking of the Halloween party he'd gone to the past weekend.)
Purple princess (apparently baffled by his use of the past tense, as she was not only old enough to know that today was the holiday, but obviously lived in a normal home): "Halloween's today,'' she corrected.
I returned at that point, the candy concealed in my hand. I pushed it deep in her bag, out of the sight of my boys. Or so I thought.
Younger son: "I want 'teet' (treat).''
With that, the purple princess headed off, unaware of the devastation left in her wake.
Unable to hold off the pleas, I agreed to produce a "teet,'' but there was no way I was introducing chocolate at that hour. They could each have a vanilla cookie, Monster Mom decreed, and then it was bedtime.
Incredibly, my younger son went to sleep. I was moving toward son two when the buzzer rang again.
It was a trio of ghouls, and they needed to be fed.
"What did you give them?'' my son asked after noticing me slip something in their bags.
"Vitamins,'' I said, trying to head off the larger conversation (Why were costumed children appearing at our door?). "Let's go get yours. I wonder what color it will be tonight.''
And with that last lie, he was off to sleep. As for me, I was left alone with the remaining Milky Ways - fun-sized, of course.
