“You hate Halloween?!,” the well meaning mother of one asked me incredulously. “WHY?!”

Well…

THE PRESSURE

Every year at this time, I feel like I’ve barely survived the chaotic back-to-school craziness when out of nowhere it’s Halloween season. With five children to dress I can either spend a hundred-plus bucks at Walmart to buy poorly sewn costumes that rip at the crotch if you look at them sideways. I can take out a second mortgage to buy the better quality costumes that can be found online. Or, I can spend the entire month planning, gathering, crafting and obsessing over the homemade options that require dozens of hours of time that I just don’t have.

THE PARTIES

When I was a kid we wore our costumes to school on Halloween for a class party and a parade around the elementary halls to admire each others duds. Then, we trick-or-treated that night. (Well, I didn’t, mind you because I lived in uber rural Wisconsin where our nearest neighbor lived over a mile away and my Mom grew up in the big city which meant she was absolutely certain that any candy we received from a stranger was either laced with drugs or infused with razor blades. But, other kids did…) Today, it seems like our kids have at least three Halloween “parties” to attend before we ever get to October 31st. There are parties for activities, parties for church, parties where parents are supposed to dress up too, weird “healthy Halloween” parties where the Pinterest-perfect mom hands out organic apples and homemade granola, parties for the sake of parties, and then there’s actual Halloween. In my house, that means there’s an 80% chance that the cheap costume is never going to make it to Halloween night still in one piece.

THE CANDY

We’re not a sugar free household. I let my kids have candy, probably more than I should, but there is just something about Halloween candy that makes my kids absolutely lose their minds. Once it’s in their buckets, they become Rain Man focused on eating it.

“Can I open this?”
“Mom, will you open this?”
“What kind is this?”
“Can I open it?”
“Will you open it?”
“He opened his!!”
“Can I open mine??!”
“Mooooom!”

Once we finally make it home (from one of the many pre-Halloween parties), likely with snitched chocolate smeared on our cheap, ripped-by-now costumes, we usually pool all the candy into a giant bag or bowl to “eat later.”

Ah, but the Siren’s call of the “eat later” candy…

Five minutes after the cupboard door has shut:

“Mom, can I have another piece of candy?”
“Just one?”
“The last bag I had only had three pieces in it and his had four!”
“Mom, please?”
“Mom.”
“Mom, please?”
“Moooooom!”

After a few days of listening to this script on repeat and rationing out the candy like flour sacks in Communist Russia, I usually just give up and bury the remaining pieces in the bottom of the garbage can, then hide in the bathroom and rock back and forth for a while to clear my head.

So, why do I hate Halloween, she asks.

“I don’t know,” I casually answer, “I just do.”