Stash

It was a busy night. The munchkins roamed the neighborhood on Halloween and came back with their little pumpkin bags full of treats, serious treats - the sugar-laden kind that their parents forbid on the remaining 364 days of the year.

Sophie, oops Princess Jasmine, was almost jumping out of her princess socks to get on the street and collect her sweet gold mine of goodies. Hannah, who was supposed to be Dorothy of Oz, decided instead to up her fashion ante and appear in a gold lame wispy smock that matched, in color if not in theme, her brown Dorothy pigtails. Eclectic is in. We had to remind both to put on their shoes before sprinting out the door. Little Bo Peep, a close friend, decided to shepherd her flock with Jasmine and Dorothy and off they went on a wonderfully mild night. Moms and dads followed them out the door while I stood guard on the front stoop with a bowl full of candy for the incoming traffic.

Soon I could hear the excited babble of kids as little ones (and big ones) came traipsing up the steps. My heart felt generous looking into their painted faces and I found myself dropping more than one candy bar into each extended bag. It was nice to see that polite thank you’s were the order of the day. Parents waited patiently on the street as their goblins and ninja turtles made the rounds. One lone boy, about twelve, came up the steps and looked a bit uncomfortable … he shifted once and then asked if he could please use the bathroom. It takes a village. I let the kid in and pointed him to the door at the end of the hall. He was in there quite a while but seemed no worse for wear when he did re-appear, picked up his basket of loot and moved on. Yes, the kid could never have made it home to his own toilet.

It was that kind of night. Before the girls were ready to go out the door, our old dog decided to shower the kitchen floor with his own forget-me-nots. Jenn was busy with bleach and paper towels while I helped the girls squirm into their footwear. Not exactly a Hallmark moment.

We all survived. The girls returned, promptly emptied their bags onto the living-room floor (the kitchen floor was still off-limits) and proceeded to ooh and aah over the candy and pudding cups. One would think they lived in a third-world country. They were allowed to choose just one sweet to consume before bedtime. The pudding cups won out.

Seeing that they were rolling in candy for the next year or so, I secretly allocated the rest of our leftover giveaway to my coat pocket and quietly left the scene.

Grandmoms have a sweet tooth too.