Halloween is not a tradition we practice in our house.
Not for any particular reason other than we’re busy. And don’t really know others who “practice” it. And have no real interset in it. And, since becoming parents, a pathological increase in paranoia and children being abducted, given poison lollies or them liking someone else more than us because they gave them nice lollies and not crap ones.
Monkey Boy, who has been hassling me for days about the purchase of a box of Star Wars LEGO in numerous forms from negotiating advance payment on pocket money to the “It will be my birthday AND Christmas present and I want my birthday present early this year”, has now decided that Halloween should be one of those occasions in our household, whereby we buy the kids loads of presents, just “like at Christmas and birthdays and that stuff”.
Um, no. I don’t think so.
Godzilla, on the other hand and in between Monkey Boy’s hounding, badgered me about going “Trinkle treating NOW!”, took my hot pink, fluffy