My only experience of trick or treating to date was lying on the floor of our house in London with the lights off and the curtains drawn, whilst teenage boys shouted “Trick or treat. We know you’re in there,” through the letterbox. Last week, after much persuasion, I agreed to embark on a trick or treat crawl to neighbouring houses. I dashed to Woolworths and stocked up on three costumes and some essential tricks in the form of party poppers.
Having not taken part in Halloween for years, I was a bit rusty on the whole trick or treat etiquette. I chatted to a few friends and learnt that it was best practice to call a few neighbours in advance. I duly phoned and pre-booked our slots.
We invited some friends to join us, as admittedly I was reluctant to roam around the lanes in the dark with three small children. The children could barely contain themselves as they dressed up and The Baby was utterly bemused, wondering why he was going out in the dark, strapped into the buggy dressed as a small skeleton. It was only then I realised we had no torch, except for the pen-sized one my friend kept in her handbag. After an SOS call to my mother, she arrived with a large torch and we set off into the darkness. It was certainly scary steering six children and a pushchair down the road, regularly diving onto the verge to avoid cars rushing home from work. As we approached our first stop, my son tripped over the kerb, falling flat on his monster’s mask. We arrived on the doorstep with him and The Baby screaming - now traumatised by the whole dark experience. Our lovely neighbour held out a large basket of treats. I was mortified as my children enthusiastically grabbed a handful. I had also forgotten to brief them about the etiquette of trick or treating.
At the next house, two of the children yelled outside the front door as their beloved costumes got caught on a nearby rose bush. Once untangled, our neighbours kindly asked us in and presented the children with a bag of goodies, and us mothers with a perfectly timed glass of red. I almost drained it in one as I watched The Baby clamber onto a smart sofa to munch his way through a packet of chocolate buttons. As if that wasn’t enough, my friends’s little boy suddenly said, “This is boring.” It was time to move on and we broke into a jog for the last couple of houses.
We arrived back with a gaggle of exhausted children in tow. It all ended with the children squabbling over the treats, my son crying at not being able to try out a trick and The Baby almost choking on a chewy eyeball.
