What Halloween means at thirty
Halloween through my childhood was a fun night of dressing up with my brother, grasping my broomstick (couldn't say that if I was male) and 'flying' about all of our relative's houses on the hunt for ghostly-themed treats, before heading out in the evening with our cousins to knock on a few doors (with whichever unsuspecting guardian drew the short straw that year). All Hallows Eve through my late teens meant 'dressing up' as a provocative version of Chucky (yes, that really happened) and sinking as many slime-green shots as possible before a night of dancing and yelling over ear-splitting noughties hits; "Did you just puke on my shoes?".
In my mid-20's, the kids started coming (as if their arrivals were that easy) so Halloween meant dressing a googly-eyed miniature of myself (well, one with a willy) as an adorable pumpkin OR twinning two adorable monsters (literally; as Sully and Mikey from Monsters Inc) once the second
demon child had arrived.
Now I'm in my 30's (only just FYI), Halloween means suddenly I'm the designated parent awkwardly shuffling my feet in the background at each neighbouring house. But it also means I get to vicariously live through my children and not only feel their constant palpable excitement (for up to 3 weeks beforehand) but also eat their leftover Halloween sweets too (though don't tell them that), plus I get invited to Halloween parties hosted by Bellatrix Lestrange (and her wonky wand), so it's not all bad really.