Frightfully fun

Our usual Halloween consists of sitting around the candy bowl, waiting for trick or treaters who never come, because we do not have a porch light and our house is shrouded in darkness. This has never really bothered us, because of course we buy the candy for ourselves, knowing full well we will never get any kids. But this year I was privileged to spend Halloween with my niece's two children, who at the tender ages of five and three have the process down quite well.

The three-year-old -- who has never in her life come within ten feet of me of her own free will -- was so beside herself with excitement that when her brother announced my arrival she flew straight at my legs and wrapped herself around them, fairy wings and all, and squeezed as tight as she could. "Hello?" I wanted to say. "This is Aunt Holly. You don't like me." I tried to hide my face so she wouldn't look up and suddenly realize her mistake. Even without a mask, I am pretty scary to her.

According to a recent story in the newspaper -- which, you might recall from an earlier blog, no longer carries actual news, and the story reported here must be completely fabricated, as you will see -- it is important to make sure children get some actual nutrition on Halloween before they go out into the wide world beyond to collect cavities. The article notes that due to all the excitement of the occasion, some children may be reluctant to acquire this nutrition, and suggests that parents stimulate more interest by having the kids help make the dinner. And not just any dinner. They must plan dinner as an art project, wherein the kids help make foods that the parents themselves would never think of eating but that kids find attractive, such as things that look like spiders and ghosts and eyeballs.

The article was accompanied by several photos of a mother and two children making what the article said was turkey meatball spiders, but what appeared to be cupcakes with various crustacean parts sticking out at odd angles. The meatballs consisted of -- and this is true -- turkey, shredded zucchini, oatmeal, and 12-grain bread. The article did not indicate whether the children actually ate any of this, but I would be highly suspicious of them if they did.

My niece did not have her children make turkey meatball spiders, but she did make a homemade chicken pot pie for dinner. The net food intake for one child was two peas from her pot pie and also four grapes; the other child wouldn't eat a bite and ended up getting a hot dog, which, once on his plate, was subjected to rough treatment as a hockey puck. No doubt the meal would have been more successful if we had called it something interesting, like Brain Pot Pie.

Then it was time for the obligatory photos of everyone in costume, which kids like even less than going to get their picture taken with Santa, because every minute spent standing still for a photo translates into roughly 5 lost pieces of potential candy. My niece lined up four squirming children, her two and the neighbors', and we all snapped away. In an attempt to assure their cooperation, she informed them that they would appreciate these photos someday. They squirmed even more.

When they were finally released to go out, they immediately scattered in four different directions. Most of my time was spent running after a child, only to find out that I didn't know the child, and the one I was supposed to be watching was by now probably perched in some neighbor's kitchen, contentedly eating candy and Brain Pot Pie.

The first five houses they went to -- once we had corralled the children who actually belonged to us -- were all lit up like Christmas trees, yet the kids insisted that no one was home at any of them. I finally realized that they were not announcing themselves in any manner. They made plenty of noise running across the yards, but when they got to a porch they stood silently, peering through the window to see if anyone was coming. If no one came within approximately two nanoseconds, they declared that no one was home, and off they went to the next house to repeat this process.

Apparently they expected the adults to have Silent Radar, which would immediately set off alarms in the house when the children crossed some invisible threshold in the yard -- BWEEP! BWEEP BWEEP! -- and cause the adults to drop whatever they were doing and scurry to do the children's bidding. The only homes where they got any actual candy were those where other children had already done the grunt work of getting homeowners to come to the door.

In the end I got a pretty good deal. The kids graciously shared their haul with me -- once they had figured out how to activate the Candy Acquisition Process -- and waiting for me at home was my full bowl of candy.