Harper walked out of my closet on Sunday afternoon wearing my navy blazer, an old lanyard from my hospital days and a clipboard, and announced she was going as me for Halloween. "I have a meeting," she said, tapping the clipboard. "It could have been an email." I have never felt so seen or so insulted.
So the costume is handled, for the cost of a $3 clipboard from the dollar aisle at Target. This is our second year of closet costumes. Last year she went as a librarian in my gray cardigan, a pair of Ben's old reading glasses with the lenses popped out and a stack of her own books, and she was asked twice whether she was a teacher.
How we learned to keep it to one late night
Two years ago Halloween fell on a Tuesday, and we did everything. A trunk-or-treat in a church parking lot on Sunday, the school fall festival on Monday night and trick-or-treating on Tuesday. By Wednesday nobody in this house was speaking in full sentences, and by Thursday Harper was falling asleep in the car line.
Last year Halloween landed on a Thursday, a true school night, with work and school Friday morning for all three of us. So we made one rule: one late night, and it's the real one. We skipped the festival and the trunk-or-treat. Harper was not thrilled until I pointed out that one full night of trick-or-treating gets her more candy than three nights of fun-size handouts from car trunks. She did the math and signed off.
Here's how last year's Thursday actually ran:
- 5:40: I got home from an office day in Huntsville. Ben had canceled Thursday soccer practice, to loud cheers.
- 5:50: Dinner was chili Ben made on Sunday. Nobody trick-or-treats on an empty stomach at our house, because a hungry nine-year-old with a candy bag is a negotiation I don't want.
- 6:15: Costume on, flashlight checked, a regular-sized bag. Not the pillowcase.
- 6:20: One neighborhood loop with Ben: our street, around the block and back, about 40 houses.
- 7:20: Home. Candy sorted on the living room floor, three pieces chosen for that night.
- 7:30-8:00: Harper helped me hand out candy until the porch light went off.
- 8:15: Bath, pajamas, two chapters of a book.
- 9:00: Lights out was the goal.
The bedtime mostly held. Lights went out at 9:20, because the candy sort turned into a candy trade with her father, and I let it go. Friday morning she was in the car line on time with one big yawn, and I was on I-565 by 7:40 with a fun-size bar in my cup holder. Nobody fell asleep anywhere. I'm counting it.
This year, on a Friday
Halloween is a Friday this year, which sounds like a gift until you count. Harper still has school all day. I have a full day of work, from home this time, and Ben sees patients until 5. Saturday morning he's coaching a 9 a.m. game, and Harper is playing in it. The invitations started two weeks ago, a trunk-or-treat Wednesday night and the festival Thursday night, and we've said no to both. Same rule.
The plan shifts a little. I close my laptop at 4:30. Dinner is at 5, the loop starts at 6, and lights out is 9:15, which is as late as I'm willing to go with a 9 a.m. kickoff. Ben's role is the same as last year. "One loop," he said. "Then we're the house with the good candy." He means it. We bought the full-size bars this time.
- Clipboard for the costume: $3
- Box of 30 full-size candy bars from Costco, picked up on my way home Wednesday: $24
- Backup bag of fun-size from Aldi: $9
- Glow sticks: $4
- Total: $40
What we're skipping on purpose: the two school-night events, a second loop "just to see" and candy for breakfast. Saturday still has to happen. Ben has cones to set out by 8, and I have a ten-year-old project manager to get into her shin guards.
