The Wrong Side of the Door OR Making New Halloween Traditions

This was the second year I have not taken a child trick-or-treating. Last year, Seth asked if he could go with his friends. He was 12 and in the 7th grade. It was time. So dressed as a fairy in a pink tutu and looking every bit as ridiculous as that sounds, off he went with a group of his friends from church. I waved goodbye, longingly, the words "Be safe; watch for cars!" on my lips. For 25 years in a row, I had taken one or more of my children trick-or-treating. How could it be over?

One year later, I'm still not fond of this whole deal. It doesn't feel right. But instead of whining any further, I decided to take control of the situation and make some new Halloween traditions. I am moving forward. Halloween can still be fun, right? Who am I trying to convince? Yep, myself.

First tradition, breakfast at Einstein's to start the day. With a blueberry bagel in one hand and a nana in the other, Swen was momentarily distracted from the garbage can. He prefers garbage cans to just about anything else in the world.

Next stop was Target to do some early Christmas shopping. Oooh, I am so excited! I know, I know. Lots of people don't even want to hear the word "Christmas" this early, but for me, the season cannot come fast enough. The music, the decorations, the lights, the presents---I love everything! Wait. Okay, yes. It's still October. The spotlight is Halloween and new traditions. Stay focused, Terrianne. We headed home to get Swen down for his nap. Once he was sound asleep with Gerald upstairs to listen for him, we were off to our next new Halloween tradition: massages. Ahhhhhhh!

How relaxed and refreshed do we look, even with oily hair (mine, that is; Shulamith was smart enough to tie hers back) and wearing workout clothes? If I were wealthy, massage is a luxury I would indulge in regularly. I am not. Instead, we do it maybe twice a year, and from now on, Halloween will be one of those times.

We ate lunch and arrived home barely in time for me to go teach one lesson with the sisters before the next new tradition: trick-or-treating at the mall. This was my only chance to be with Seth for just a bit before he left for a night of intense candy retrieval and consumption. He looks in pretty bad shape here. His "back story" is how he was hit by a car and thrown 30 feel into the air. I think this is a tribute to the time back in December when he actually was hit by a car, though he escaped that incident virtually unscathed.

All too soon we were home again, Seth was gone, and tiny goblins of all varieties were ringing my doorbell, one after the other. It was so weird. Each time I answered, I thought, "I'm on the wrong side of the door. I'm supposed to be out there on the sidewalk watching my kids trick-or-treat. This is all just very wrong."

Forward. New Halloween traditions. I can do this.

It is now 9:30. The doorbell has ceased ringing. I sit in a way too quiet home, my lighted witch glowing in the window, my depleted bowl of candy on the coffee table. I await Seth's safe return, anxious to hear his Halloween tales, every last one. Seth. My baby. My very last child. My brand new teenager, who no longer needs his mom to take him trick-or-treating.