The Unspookiest Night Ever

I always wondered when Mark would lose interest in Halloween...the answer, apparently, was this year.

He feigned interest last month long enough to con me into buying a "costume"--a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle sweatshirt. I realized there was only a 50% chance he'd actually wear it on Halloween (he's fickle), but I bought it anyway.

And true to form, on Halloween, he refused to wear the sweatshirt.

"Free dress day at school!" he sang happily to me instead. (That kid really hates school uniforms.)

"It's not free dress day," I reminded him. "It's COSTUME day. You are free to wear a costume."

"That's what I said," he repeated, slowly enough for my stupid parent brain to comprehend. "Free. Dress. Day."

We stared each other down for five seconds, until I broke.

"Not free dress. Costumes," I repeated. "Or uniforms."

He stomped off to his room, returning with a smirk, a Jamaican running jersey, basketball shorts, and his sweatshirt. He also sported a baseball cap and basketball shoes--basically, free dress.

"I'll wear the sweatshirt until I get hot," he explained. "Then my costume will be a Jamaican runner."

And that's how Mark talked himself back into his uniform for Halloween. 

"Fine, bye," he called out, walking out the door. He was totally unfazed, not angry or snotty--a dead giveaway he was up to no good.

"Let me check something," I said, before he got too far. I motioned to his backpack, and he handed it over with a loud sigh. I pulled out the clothes he'd stuffed in there for later. Mark thinks I'm totally predictable, but the truth is, he's just the same. He snatched his bag back, then stomped off to school.

Mark was much happier by the time I got home from work. He was still bummed to miss a friend's Halloween party (because of grades), but he helped me fill the candy bowls and wait for trick or treaters. And there was a Lakers-Clippers game on TV, so he was thrilled about that.

"That's a lot of candy," Mark observed, popping a candy bar into his mouth.

"I know!" I said. I'd never stayed home on Halloween, so I wasn't sure how many kids would come, but I expected a lot. Usually, we got 10 or 12 before we went trick or treating on our own. 

But not this year. I don't know where the trick or treaters went, but they skipped our house. We got a total of four small groups of kids, all girls, and that was it.

Mark jumped up when the first group knocked, racing toward the door.

"Slow down!" I said. "It's okay, you can give them candy."

"I don't wanna," Mark said, ducking past the front door. "I'm hiding."

And sure enough, that's what he did. He repeated this with the three other groups, jumping behind the couch, or slinking behind a wall. 

"There weren't any monsters at the door," I told him. "Just a bunch of little girls."

"They might know me," Mr. Self Conscious said, climbing out from behind the coffee table.

"They don't know you," I said. "They looked like sixth graders."

"Exactly," he said. "I know a lot of sixth graders."

I left that alone. I've learned you can't fight Mark with logic.

By 7:30, it was clear we'd get very few (if any) more kids. 

"Wanna go see some spooky houses?" I asked Mark. "I saw one scary house with a fog machine on the way home from work!"

"Nah," Mark said. He chomped another candy bar and changed TV channels.

"Wanna walk around the neighborhood and see kids in costumes?" I asked, but Mark just shook his head again. He'd realized that this was his most productive Halloween ever. He had all of his favorite things--TV, sports, and candy he didn't have to beg from the neighbors. And best of all, the candies were all his favorites.

"I kinda miss sorting through my candy and trading for the good stuff," he said. Then he fished out some M&Ms and brightened up. "But hey, this bowl is all good stuff anyway!"

By the end of the night, the living room looked like he'd been on a bender. Candy wrappers littered the floor, where Mark lay, holding his stomach and moaning.

"So...full..." he complained. That was my cue--with a little prodding, he cleaned up his mess and went to bed.

I thought this year might be a milestone for another reason. Mark doesn't have enough will power to ever turn down Halloween candy, but I thought this year, he was old enough to handle it, diabetically speaking.

"Just cover it," I pleaded. "You don't have to hide candy in your room and sneak it. If you eat it, just give yourself insulin." 

"I will," he said, confidentally. "Geez, I know how to handle myself around candy, Mom."

Which I totally agreed with--right up until the next morning. I made my coffee, then noticed his huge cup of hot chocolate with weird things floating in it.

"I added M&Ms," he told me. "It's the best hot chocolate ever!"

That's when I realized that no matter how hard I tried, or how much faith I had in him, he's just a 14-year-old boy. Who sees nothing wrong with starting his day with a giant cup of sugar.

So that's how our uneventful Halloween ended, as all the others before it had--with me taking away a giant bag of candy to keep my son out of a diabetic coma. 

But this year, it was much easier to do--I didn't have to buy the surplus candy from Mark (a kid only gives up his candy for cash). Technically, I'd already purchased the candy so Mark couldn't protest--he'd put no effort into collecting it. 

And, in the end, that sugary collection did make a lot of people happy, even if they weren't cute little trick or treaters. Just ask my co-workers, who gladly accepted the leftovers.