On Halloween I helped my five children transform into someone other than themselves. For just a few hours they would get to gallivant around our small town knocking on doors and scoring enough candy to last until Easter. It is always a treat (no pun intended) watching them skip from door to door with excitement and seeing that look of pure unadulterated joy as they examine the booty in their little orange pumpkins. One cannot help but emit a little laughter of their own as they hear the giggles of their children when they see their friends in their costumes for the first time. Halloween is truly an opportunity to bask in the innocence of childhood.
Until your children remind you that they aren’t babies anymore.
I knew it was coming. I had tried to ward it off by telling myself that she just isn’t old enough yet. Surely she would want to come with us. She’s always come with us. How could she not want to come with us? For eleven years it had been her and us. Some years we would add to our crew, but she was always there. Surely she wouldn’t want to miss it. Surely family trumps girlfriends. Surely I could hold on to her one more year.
Then I heard it. The question I had been dreading for days:
“Mom, is it OK if I go trick-or-treating with my friends this year?”
At the very utterance of this phrase I felt as if all the air had been taken from my lungs.
While I had been preparing myself for that request, I must admit that it hurt just a little. Not because she wanted to go it alone, but because I had to concede to the fact that she’s growing up faster than I want her to. That maybe she’s just ready to experience some things on her own.
I had no choice but to let her spread her wings just a little bit, because I know that if I force her to stay in the comfort of the nest she’ll never learn to fly on her own.
I’m not ready for my babies to grow up. Sounds selfish I know. While I don’t miss the days of diapers and bottles, puke-stained shirts and sleepless nights; I missed seeing them all holding hands as they walked down the street. I missed hearing them fight over who got to go to the door first. I missed the tradition of being together as a family.
I missed my girl.
While her first time flying solo was probably ten times better for her than it was for me, I would be lying if I didn’t admit that it made my heart smile just a bit when I tucked her into bed that night and she looked at me with her tired, tear-filled eyes and said:
“Mom, it just wasn’t as fun without you guys.”
I might just have some renewed hope for next year.
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