Tricks With Treats

Ah, Halloween! This was the first year that Oo was old enough to care what she'd wear. On her 1st Halloween, she was a lamb. On her 2nd Halloween, she was the same size so she was the same lamb. By her 3rd Halloween she'd finally grown out of the lamb costume. She dressed as a lion, and T wore the lamb costume. The lion and the lamb... we didn't plan it that way, but it sure was cute. No one fit into the lamb suit this year.



Back in August, Oo started dreaming about this year's costume. She wanted to be a cowgirl... no, a T-rex... no, a robot. It wasn't until mid-October that she decided she definitely wanted to be a T-rex. (I'm sure the lizard mask she'd recently played with had a lot to do with her final decision.)


So we began our quest for a dinosaur costume. A and Oo went to two Halloween stores, but she said she was too scared of the spooky stuff to shop any further. So I went alone to shop for a costume. Low and behold, I found a dinosaur costume, and it was on sale. Bonus! It was the one and only dinosaur costume we had seen anywhere, and it just happened to be her size. Double bonus! I brought it home and hid it in a closet, to keep her from wearing it to shreds before Halloween night.

And now for T's costume. One night as T took a bath, I amused myself by styling his foamy, shampoo-y hair. I gave him a shampoo mohawk, and A loved it. It was then that I thought of dressing T as a punk rocker for Halloween. He had a couple bad-ass toddler t-shirts (courtesy of my sister) that would look great layered over a long-sleeved shirt, and we already had a dog collar (also from my sister). All I needed to make the punk ensemble complete was a pair of plaid pants. "No problem," I thought. Stores were already stocking the Christmas items. I was sure I could find some red plaid pants (which would later double as half of a snazzy outfit for Christmas).

Okay, problem... yeah, the store's racks were filling up with Christmas clothes, but only frilly dresses. There were no holiday clothes for boys to be found. Ixnay the unkpay. Fortunately, two days before Halloween, I found a little red sweat suit, complete with devil horns and a tail. And it was on sale for only $2.50. Super duper bonus! (Sometimes it does pay to do things at the last minute.)


On Halloween night, with A manning the porch and candy bowl, the kids and I started to make our rounds. Oo kept sprinting ahead of me -- too excited to stay by my side -- and T was happily riding in the wagon behind me. I was exited too. Excited to show off my little T-rex and devil. Excited to watch Oo ham it up for the neighbors with her growling, stomping and showing her claws. And excited to watch T's reaction to a candy treat or two. (He doesn't get candy at home.)

And then the tricks began. Oo totally clammed up. Shyness? Stage fright? I'm not sure, but she wouldn't say anything to our neighbors -- not "trick or treat," not "thank you," not even one growl. Here's the girl who talks non-stop all day, who tells her life story to everyone she meets. [Sigh.] Oh well, I couldn't coax her. Rebel that she is, coaxing would only make her clam up even more and maybe use her own make-believe sign language with me.

As for T, I unwrapped the first long tootsie roll we got and place it in his warm little fist. He studied it quietly, his arm and hand held completely steady. He did not move it in for a taste or a closer look. He held it perfectly still in his wagon, as if posing for a painted portraiture.

About half-way around our block, I noticed the tip of the tootsie roll was slobbery, yet his arm was held in the same position as before. I'd missed seeing him take a taste; I'd missed seeing his reaction. Did he like it? Did he smile? Would he taste it again?

At each house, I would bend down next to him to help Oo put T's share of the candy in his bag, and occasionally I studied the slobbery tootsie roll. We visited several more houses before I noticed a tiny nibble taken out of the top. But I never did see him put the candy to his lips. By the time we got home, the tootsie roll was gone. "He must've liked it," I thought.

Oo and I joined A on our front steps and helped to hand out candy. T was content to sit still in the wagon. He was moving around now -- reaching into his treat bag, pulling candies out one at a time and dropping them onto the ground. His bag was nearly empty. "So he didN'T like it," I thought, picturing the tootsie roll discarded somewhere in a pile of leaves.

Later that night, I found the tootsie roll. It was tucked inside my blazer pocket, in all its sticky, slobbery glory. How nice of him to share.