Halloween rocks when you’re a kid. You know when it doesn’t rock? When you’re a kid’s mom. It sucks to be a mom on Halloween. And if you’re thinking “Aww I love Halloween with my little angel,” that’s because your kid is two years old. You tote a human bumble bee to a baby party and then go home to resume your life. But when your child gets a little older, you’re in for a real treat.
I didn’t always hate Halloween. When I was a kid I loved it – every year I wore a totally inappropriate costume that I called Madonna but was really a hooker and nobody cared. I stuffed myself with sugar, dumped shaving cream on my friends and ran wild with all the grade-schoolers dressed as Freddy Kruger and Jason. From college on, I was a sexy version of almost every profession, (as sexy as a chubby drunk chick can get) and used it as an excuse to party.
But when you’re a mom, it’s different. It’s not about you anymore. Like, at all. And it all starts in August when the catalogues begin rolling in. Your child is sure of what he wants to be three months in advance, but come October, he’ll have changed his mind 14 times, leaving a pile of unworn costumes by the time the day actually gets here. You can’t even exchange them because the second that costume is in your home your kid goes ape shit to wear it.
And when Halloween starts on a weekend, it suck even more. Without a few hours of school as reprieve, my 6 a.m. wakeup call will be desperate cries of “can I put on my costume yet?” I can say no, but my kids will already have their costumes on by the time they start asking. And since most superheroes and beasts wear giant onesies, going to the bathroom is pretty miserable all day.
Then there’s the candy. No one rings my doorbell, but if I don’t buy candy, every stinker in town will be on my porch. And I don’t want to be that sucky mom who gives out nickels or fruit, so I’m always stuck with bags of crap on top of what my kids bring home. And when my children trick or treat, they lose all willpower. I tell them about the horrors of razors in chocolate bars, but once that junk is in their bucket they don’t give a shit. I find myself face to face with a kid whose chin is smeared with snickers swearing he didn’t eat anything.
Then there’s the hours of trick or treating, where freezing parents trail behind over-excited sugared up maniacs, who all look the same in their costumes, as we scream to not run in the street and try desperately to keep track of where they are. And since the end of October is usually cold there’s always an epic battle about putting on a jacket over costumes. I always win that battle, which means I end up holding 4 enormous jackets a few minutes after we get outside.
Once the long day of partying and running and screaming is done, moms aren’t nearly home-free. Because then there’s bedtime, when the 18 gallons of sugar your kids ate for dinner meet the images of zombies and skeletons swimming in their heads. Good luck with that.
But Halloween isn’t all bad, I guess. My kids do look pretty cute in their costumes and seeing them have all that fun with their friends makes me smile.
That, and it’s the only day of the year I can call them little monsters without feeling bad.