Trick-or-Treat Lasts for Weeks at Our House

I put the kibosh on the unlimited Halloween candy fest the day after beggar’s night. The boys gorged for one glorious day.

“Gorge!! Are you serious??” my 13-year old protests as he reads over my shoulder. “I had one Butterfinger on beggar’s night! The next morning, as soon as we woke up, you told us we could only have two pieces.”

I think it was the way I announced how the candy would be rationed that was most annoying. In a strained accent, as if I were a professor at the La School de Doom, I said: “You may have two pieces. It is up to you to decide if you are going to devour them both right away, devour one and save the other for later, or slowly eat one throughout the morning and consciously eat the other throughout the afternoon and into the evening.”

At that pace they’d have to carve the candy bars with an Exacto knife into little shavings that they would savor on the hour. I knew neither of them would take the last option. I just thought I’d put it out there, as if somewhere in the world there were superchildren that actually did that.

“I’m a kid! Kids don’t plan!” my 9-year old yelled after scurrying out of my bedroom with two 3 Musketeers from his pillowcase.

I yelled back, “Some kids plan! Weird ones who grow up to have a lot of control issues!”

He ate both 3 Musketeers in the amount of time it took me to climb out of bed.

Later, in the voice of the Professor at La School de Doom, I asked him how he chose to consume his candy bars. He said, “I ate them right away while I was on the computer.”  He added, “but I was aware that I was eating them.” Always knows what to say, that one.

My 13-year old’s first choice was a Crunch bar. His favorite. Why would he reach for a last choice piece? No one does that. It’s unheard of. His second choice was a piece of gum because it could last for hours.

You eat the best ones first. That way, one day when you come home from school to find the pillowcase that had been holding all your loot on the couch, folded and in a pile of freshly laundered linens, you don’t flip. You know all that was left were raisins and hard candy that tasted like mothballs.

The boys like to brag about how often they found the hidden pillowcases. They like to make fun of my lame hiding spots. We are all aware of the game. I hide the candy from the boys after they’ve gone to bed on Halloween night. The next day when they ask for their candy bags, I tell them where they are hidden. Then when they run off with their rations, I hide the bags in another discrete location. They love this game. They count on two things. One, that I will forget to hide it. Two, that I hide it someplace stupid.

We do this on a daily basis for several weeks. They know what’s coming. It is understood that sometime before Thanksgiving I toss the candy leftovers in a kitchen garbage bag, cinch it up in a double knot and toss it into the garage garbage cans, the really gross ones no one retrieves anything from under any circumstances.

They don’t feel ripped off. They know how often they’ve found the candy while I was running an errand. They plundered plenty. It’s all part of trick-or-treat.

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