Happy New Year! Scratch that. Happy Fall Equinox! Wait...let me try that one more time. Happy Belated Halloween!! Let's be honest--I have no idea what day it is. This newborn business has me blindfolded and turning in circles on a good day. Our Halloween transpired in typical fashion, which is to say that the boys conveniently contracted COLDS (how is that for some smashing alliteration--and on only five hours sleep!) the day prior. Still, we managed to get a little pumpkin pancakes, pumpkin carving, and pumpkin trick-or-treating (that didn't make sense--humor me) in before bedtime. This was actually a rather monumental Halloween for us, as it was the first one that the boys were able to celebrate with honest-to-goodness store-bought candy, begged from the hands of total strangers. Of course, this "gift" is the lesser of two evils, the first being the former food allergies. Let's be honest--those five pound bags of candy are not doing any of us any favors, especially with cold and flu season looming, or should I say upon us.

Observing trick-or-treating is a little like conducting a personality inventory of sorts. You can probably guess my type. I am the one who, in extroverted Type A fashion, would visit every single house, without deviation, until the dinner bell called me home. And even then, I could probably get in another five houses. One particular childhood Halloween comes to mind. We were living in Los Angeles at the time. Thanks to my parents' common sense, they decided to drive us outside our inner city neighborhood to trick-or-trick in a posh suburb with beautifully manicured laws and foreign cars in the driveways. This night was like no other--it was pouring SHEETS of rain--I'm talking torrential downpour. The gutters were practically hazards for the rushing whitewater fighting its way downhill. Darned if I didn't run pell mell through that neighborhood in my little Indian outfit, dripping braids and all, gathering up a pillowcase cornucopia of full-sized Snickers, Smarty rolls, and dollar bills. This night is on my top ten list to this day.

Contrast that with my James. As we made our way along the street, he analyzed each house prior to making his way up the driveway in painfully slow fashion. It was essential that he had a lay of the land prior to any tactical maneuvers. Then, he let his little brothers make their way to the door while he sidestepped his way up the walk, a good seven paces behind. When the door was opened with a smiling face, he usually met it with terrified silence and an averted glance. With a good pinch and admonition from his mother or father, he squeaked out a Happy Halloween. His tortured expression looked, well, tortured. Add to it the confusion of not knowing what to expect from the candy giver. They could a) insist upon placing the candy in your bag directly, b) hand you the candy to put in your bag yourself, or c) ask you to grab your own candy...sometimes without specifications about how many pieces to take. This is a nightmare for someone who thrives on routine and consistency. We made our way around half the block when he suddenly realized that he was disoriented. This was of great concern to my little safety-minded seven year-old. If he was uncomfortable before, he was now downright finished with this little candy-gathering excursion. He declared that the only thing he could imagine was getting home and crawling into bed. That is nearly a direct quote. It was an easy decision, as throngs of ambitious candy seekers had started making their way through the neighborhood, knocking over any small superheroes in their path. And, besides that, Samuel was having a full tantrum after having a wrapper-bound lollipop extricated from his mouth. Joshua was leaking candy from his bag in Hansel and Gretel-like fashion...and I was scurrying along behind, picking up the crumbs.

Even still, I felt a small stab of pain for every unvisited house we passed on our way home. What can I say? Old habits die hard.