"Trick or Treating"

For weeks, Rye refused to wear the homemade car costume.

So we went to the race and the farm and the Halloween party last week with no costume. We said later that we should have made him a nametag that said "Stubborn 2-year-old."

But last night, the Halloween stars aligned, and Rye put on the costume.

I was so excited as we left the house, a tiny automobile shuffling beside me. I clutched the glow stick we'd just broken open, and Dane and I held Rye's hands.

Two houses from ours, we rang the first doorbell.

Rye was apprehensive. But he went along with it and said, "Trick or treating!" and then "Thank you."

We praised him, of course, as he carefully stuffed the chocolate bar into his neon green, scary witch basket.

And that was all it took. He was hooked on trick or treating.

"Oh, let's go to the next house," he said with enthusiasm.

His haul included a jumbo pixie stick, lots of suckers, plenty of chocolate and a bag of microwave popcorn; I'm fairly sure the popcorn -- for its novelty -- was his favorite.

He's yet to eat any more than one lone mini- Hershey's bar from his basket. But that's fine.

As we walked last night, dodging the middle-school boys dressed only in a mask or a hooded sweatshirt and the girls dressed in too-short shorts and fishnet stockings, Dane and I remembered our own trick or treating nights.

It doesn't seem that long ago.

I remember clearly going to Walgreens with my best friend's mom to buy makeup, which we used in NINTH grade (yes, a little too old, I'm sure) to turn me into a mime and her into a dead cheerleader (there is a story behind that). We stayed out for hours.

I remember staying out for hours with my childhood best friend , too, even though we had elementary school the next day. We'd walk around her neighborhood, and often her mom would drive us around after that. We always ended the night at her grandma's where I'd get my favorite thing -- homemade fudge that she gave out in a baggie filled with popcorn.

Dane said last night how he impulsively started looking down streets for porch lights, calculating how quickly we could cover them all. Old habits die hard.

Rye wasn't worried about getting to everyone, though. He fixated on the "scary house" we visited, to the point that it made me feel bad for taking him up to the door, and after awhile he said he wanted to go home and watch the Barney Halloween movie.

So we did.

Still, for nearly an hour, he got a taste of my favorite holiday, the cap to my birthday month, the best time of year.