Halloween: The Day After

Yes, there were good times. Pumpkin Patch!
 

Oh Halloween. 

Remember when the morning after meant a nasty hangover and packing away your sexy cat costume for the year? Sure there was my junior year in college when my girlfriends and I actually hosted a Halloween bash, so when we rolled out of bed at 11am the next day we had mop up spilled beer and vomit, before moving on with our day, but beyond that November 1 officially marked the end of Halloween.

Flash-forward some twenty years later and All Hollow's Eve takes on a whole new meaning. No longer is the holiday about slutting it up as a sexy witch, nurse or (these days even Oscar the Grouch), and doing jello shots while listing to Thriller on repeat, oh no. It's so much more.

Me & Zack, 9, "Chrome Man"

But this is not a post about the craziness of the Halloween preparations (you know spending $268 at Halloween City for costumes, making treats like "spider sammies" "marshmallow mummies" and pumpkin-spider-ghouls-goblins anything for the school bake sale, the neighbor's open house and the class party, and convincing a nine year old that you are not converting your entire home into a haunted house while charging guests $2 per visit.) No. This is a post about the day after. And the day after and the day after.

 Now that we are parents and we are spending our Halloween bundled in jackets, trudging after children who beg for one more house.  We are the pack animals, holding the swords, light sabers, masks, magic wands and buckets of candy that have become too heavy. And it's these buckets of endless sugar that will be the source of our suffering for the next several weeks.

Evan, 6, ninja

The f*cking candy. The Snickers, Skittles, Dum-Dums, Junior Mints, Kit-Kats, M&M's, Smarties, Dots, Heath Bars, Crunch Bars, even those horrid inedible chewy candies wrapped in black and orange. The damn candy will be responsible for unbearable sugar high's (think three little boys running around sans pants screaming "I hate Taylor Swift!" at the top of their lungs while foaming at the mouth), the candy crashes (think three little boys stomping around the house with eyes glazed over, sticky fingers, screaming "I hate YOU and YOU and YOU" at the top of their lungs while kicking the dog,) and the inevitable fights over candy.

Oh the fights.

There is the:

I want another piece. Why can't I have another piece?  I hate you, give me another piece fight.

And the:

He stole my candy! I had 17 mini Hershey bars, and now I only have 16. I know, I counted.. He stole it!! fight.

And the:

He has better candy than me. He has all the Skittles. I wanted the Skittles. It's not fair. He needs to share. Actually no. Mom it's your fault I didn't get any Skittles. You made sure nobody gave me Skittles. You have to buy me Skittles. GIVE ME YOUR SKITTLES fight.

And the:

My second costume, don't ask

I swear I didn't sneak any candy! It's not chocolate on my face... it must be...err... dirt or something. That wrapper must be yours! I'm not going to time out fight.

Yes. This is what our lives will look like until the freaking Christmas tree is hauled in and we start with the damn candy canes and sugar cookies. I know. I know I will get the following feedback: "we donate our candy to charity" "our kids use their candy to buy other privileges" and "we take our kids to an organic trunk-or-treat where they get raisins, nuts and whole grain crackers.... they love it." Well my kids aren't going for that, and I can't say that I blame them. I remember being a kid to and stuffing my pillow case to overflowing with Halloween treats.  It's part of being a kid. And now... dealing with the aftermath, is part  of being a mom.

Julian, age 3, Pirate