My Ghetto Door

My Ghetto door keeps out: people soliciting, proselytizers, neighbors, bill collectors, and trick or treaters.

Have I mentioned how stressful I find Halloween? It's been a long slow journey into hell with this one. When I was a kid it was one of my favorite holidays. I loved dressing up and made most of my own costumes. Since I lived in a very whole-grain unprocessed food household I also relished the big bag of candy at the end of the night.

I keep thinking about the time I dressed up as Ruth from the bible which reminds me uncomfortably of the year I tried Jesus on for size. I was reading the bible back then and I got all the way through genesis before I just couldn't read any more of it because it's not actually a very good read (too many begats) and since there was no mention of the dinosaurs (whose bones I'd seen in the science museum) I decided I would have to reconcile the bones with the book before I went any further. They have yet to be reconciled.

Anyway, I loved Halloween and I remember loving my Ruth costume which I made myself and of course no one knew who I was.

Then before I had a kid, when we got our first house I got excited about handing out candy to kids but no kids came because we lived at the very dark last block of our entire neighborhood where only very brave souls venture at night, and bums.

As a parent I'm supposed to be very excited about Halloween. I get to make creative costumes for my kid, watch him have a blast, and basically do the gushing mom thing. How adorable to see millions of little kids come begging for candy at my door for two hours, then teenagers packing real knives, and then hookers... no, not really.

Unfortunately, having a kid messed me up bad (physiologically speaking). It made my already serious anxieties reach a fever pitch and they haven't backed down or eased up since*. Halloween offers me a multitude of platforms on which to sit my awful anxiety.

• First of all, I don't have your average kid who wants to be Spiderman. Up until he was four he refused to dress up. Which was fine with me. Then he wanted to be some esoteric thing I couldn't buy or make and it provided an opportunity for much disappointment and chagrin. The next year and every year since has been the same.

• Second of all, Halloween night is noisy, crowded, and people are roaming the streets in groups like little scary gangs all expecting candy. My doorbell rings, and rings, and rings. It turns out that I don't like opening my door to people I don't know. Especially people in masks and stupid costumes expecting me to give them candy.

• The adults dressed up almost freak me out more than the kids. Especially full grown women in outfits they think are really "cute". The mimes and clowns are the worst though. I know it's supposed to be "fun" for everyone and I shouldn't mind so many people having a good time, but I'm not a fun person. I am the antithesis of fun. I'm an incredibly un-fun person and I don't mind if others want to have fun as long as they don't drag me into it.

• Then there's the candy. You think I mean "Damn the candy everywhere that I must eat!" but I don't. The cheese and beer is why I'm fat, not the Halloween candy. I discovered that trying to estimate how much candy to buy fills me with new fodder for obsessive worry. Since I won't go out trick or treating with my kid (too much negative stimulation like that makes me want to chew on my own foot) I have been the candy dish for the last several years. I spend two hours not sure if I'm giving too much to each kid/teen/adult and will run out, or if I'm being too stingy and will wake up to an egged house because I was the mean lady who gave only one piece to each person.

One year I couldn't handle more than an hour of such suspense and put out an "out of candy" sign, turned off all the lights in my house and hid in my bedroom. It's amazing how many people can't read because the doorbell kept ringing in spite of the sign.

This year I made Max a Gengar costume which turned out surprisingly well. He loved it. Until he had to spend time in it downtown. He hates having face paint on, wearing masks, having things on his head (like hats) or having anything stiff touching his body. Apparently the seam in the top of the costume hurt his head and the whole thing wouldn't stay in place so after they came back from joining the madness downtown they planned to do a little trick or treating in the neighborhood. Max wanted to ditch the costume I spent hours making and just wear last year's costume without all the stuff that made it a costume. Basically without the weapons or sunglasses it was just a black outfit.

I told him he had to wear a costume. A huge family fight ensued.

We were all miserable until I sent Max and Philip to the store to just buy some fucking candy and be done with it. That's all Max cares about anyway. (Not actually true, he really liked his costume provided he didn't have to wear it. I think he loves the IDEA of costumes but just doesn't enjoy the reality of wearing them.)

Peace was restored.

But back to my ghetto door... I have decided that my ghetto door is brilliant. No one ever knocks (because they can't) so I NEVER get bothered by strangers at my door. If my ghetto door itself doesn't worry them, the black barking dog jumping at them from behind the metal definitely does the trick. She is a marvellous deterrent.

I was thinking that I should eventually put something really pretty in but I'm realizing now that only very good friends and the most determined trick or treaters** or evangelists will dare to attempt to enter. If my dog knows you well I know for a fact that she won't hurt you if you open the gate but if she doesn't? I honestly can't say what she'd do.

So it is with great pleasure that I wake up today with that whole bit of crazy behind me. The kid had a miserable day yesterday but is full of good spirits today and is busy drawing medieval characters while waiting for me to get off this computer to go to work so he can play video games. The husband is sleeping still.

I work all day at the toy store. It will probably be busy and speed by fast. I hope you all have a great Saturday!

*And this is where I can truly thank modern medicine for helping me out. I'd probably be dead from no sleep if it weren't for the Paxil which made my brain a little bit quieter.

**One kid attempted to breach the fortress and I'm amazed that our high pitched family yell fest wasn't a clue to that kid to scram. Some people really will do anything for candy.

My Own Small Spy

There are few things my boy likes more than being loaded down with fake weapons and tools for spying. What does it say about him? What does it say about me as a parent that I indulge him in his fantasy of violence and secret agent activity? Why don't I insist that he dress up in some gentle fashion such as pretending to be a cluster of grapes, or a bible figure (you know, one of the bible characters that didn't kill, rape, sodomize, or steal other people's babies), or insist that he dress up as an age appropriate Barney?

Because I'm a bad mommy. That's why. It is, of course, deeply ironic that I should land myself with a child who loves weapons and video games and dare-devil activities seeing as I would like to level the human fighting field by removing all automatic weapons, bombs, and missiles from the planet. While my son thinks it would be so cool to fight an opponent of some kind with a deathly quick weapon in some crazy design, I think guns and bombs and missiles are cowardly.

Violence is not something I celebrate. Never the less, my kid wants to be a spy.

They are gone. I have put a note on my door to not ring the bell. Take some candy and go. I am having palpitations. I loath this holiday. Please forgive me Amanda! I have been completely stressed out over Max's costume for days, first because he wanted me to make something I wasn't capable of making, and then because I didn't have enough time to make the costume he settled for when I convinced him I couldn't make him a suit of cyber-armor. Right as they were going out the door, the plastic keys to his new plastic FBI agent handcuffs broke and he decided that come hell or high water, he was not going to go trick or treating.

I insisted that he go. Firstly because I know that once he gets down town where half the children in McMinnville are going to go trick or treating, he will unbend and have a good time. Unlike me, he enjoys romping around with a million other hyped up immature souls. Secondly, I had just finished sewing the black spy outfit that I'd been frantically not getting anywhere with for twenty four hours.

What I want to do right now is hide under a thousand blankets and watch old episodes of "Friends". I want to drink beer and not think about all the craziness out there. I want a serene evening of curmudgeonly pursuits. I don't want to see all the kids in their costumes. I went to Max's classroom to their "harvest party" which consists of doing a bunch of really cheesy artsy projects like making spiders out of pipe cleaners and lolly pops. I didn't know I was going to be a volunteer, by the way. It's not like I had a terrible time or anything. In a weird kind of way I think I get kids more than most adults. I like them and view them as immature people, which is what they are. I see them and I recognize in them a hundred different paths their life may take them down. I don't see them as innocent little bugs of fun.

Children are not carefree little beings. There are a million agonies each of them is experiencing. Figuring out your place in the social strata is a constant shuffling activity full of mortification, pride, hope, fear, camaraderie, and also loneliness. Adults often gloss over those little childish skirmishes and play down those experiences as though they are just funny little things kids go through. In reality, a child's mortification over not being picked first for a classroom group is really no less than an adult experiences when their partner breaks up with them in a bar. Adults like to think their problems are so much bigger than a child's could ever be. You have to consider scope. You have to consider the scale of a child's life.

Anyway, I tend to get along with most kids because I can see on their level and I don't treat them like sweet little angels of light and airy goodness. I talk to them like they're people and treat them like they're people. Most kids like that. I enjoyed interacting with the kids but it didn't ameliorate the stress I feel about this holiday.

There was a time, long, long ago, when Halloween was my second favorite holiday. (Thanksgiving was always my first favorite) There was a time when thinking up and executing costumes gave me an intense joy. I actually won a couple of school costume contests,which was great since I failed to distinguish myself in any other way. But those days are gone. Maybe I did too much dressing up? Maybe I invested too much too soon and I burnt out young.

Here I am, thirty seven years old, and I dread Halloween. I hate having to answer my door all night long to complete strangers and "ooh" and "aaaah" to all the kids and glare at the teen-agers who have come with their pillow cases open and have not bothered to dress up at all. I hate the noise, the commotion, the whole to-doing. It always stresses me out to have strangers knock on my door. On Halloween they come in droves. Or they don't, but you have to be ready in case they do. There's the whole candy thing- do you give each kid a handful, two pieces, or just one? I like to be generous, but if a shitload of kids come to my door how will I be sure not to run out of candy? Or what if I have enough to give several pieces to each child but only two kids come (that happened once) and I'm left with enough candy to make an effigy of Jesus with?

You think my worries end there? What if the kids don't like the candy I'm handing out and are disappointed? Or what if I run out of candy and don't get a note on the door fast enough... the door keeps ringing and ringing and ringing? What if some creepy posse of teen boys decides my candy isn't what they're looking for and they'd like my wallet instead? What if a pedophile comes to the door with his niece and I don't notice? What if I have to talk to people I don't like?

Yeah. I know I have problems. Have I ever tried to deny it?

It's quiet out there right now, but that's because it is only just now getting dark. My boy is out there in that crazy world. I would actually prefer him here, where we can all take part in our usual comfortable routine, but at the same time, I don't want my boy to be like me. I don't want him hiding out and missing the "fun". He's not even quite seven years old yet. I don't want him to get heart palpitations from anxiety.

Most of you people I know are out there right now too. Romping joyfully with your kids. Loving the magic that is childhood*. You are laughing at the cute antics of your miniature selves and relishing the family time that is the hallmark of life with children. You aren't wishing your medication could be doubled up on nights like this. You aren't baking potatoes and desperately looking forward to when all people are in bed and asleep again. Because that's when I'll be at ease again.

Incidentally, this is the only time of year when I eat candy bars. I don't tend to eat a lot of candy. I don't crave it. Except on Halloween. I would feel that Armageddon had arrived if I passed a Halloween without eating those bite sized candy bars en mass. They're kind of nasty, actually. But I can't not have them. So I have broken with my new local eating ways to accommodate a tradition that I'm pretty sure is written in stone.

I have failed so royally today. I didn't get any pumpkins carved. I made a lame-ass costume for my boy that I finished up a half an hour after he should have already started walking downtown. I didn't make dinner. I didn't do any housework.

Oh boy. Now the damn dog is all riled up. The people are coming. This is in real time, by the way. Kind of like reporting in the trenches. Only I'm hiding in the sand-bag. How surly of me that I don't want to see kids dressed up like ridiculous Disney characters. Seriously, the dog is nuts with the interesting noise out there, barking nonstop.

It's almost seven. I guess I should check on the candy supply? But what if I run into people coming up the path? I'd like to slip out there invisibly. I have Friends on. I have beer. My potatoes are almost done baking. When the kid comes home it will take almost an hour to wind him down from the evening's excitement. During which time I will be desperately watching the clock for that inevitable time when he must be tucked in.

Ah, my starchy goodness is all ready for me. Back to my television and my bed where I await the end of the evening where-in I will revel in the gloomy quiet that always follows a fevered holiday. Good night all. In spite of my own personal feelings about this holiday-I really do hope you all have a good evening free of palpitations and barking madness!




*Not my view, obviously.