When I was a child, my sisters and I carried the same pumpkin candy carriers for the 10 or so years we trick or treated. I suspect my mother kept them, and I really should have asked her to give them to me after I had my daughter. I can never remember to buy those darn things, and it seems that every year my kids endure the humiliation of using a Target plastic bag or grocery bag for trick or treating.
Approaching my daughter’s 3rd Halloween, I finally had the where-with-all to buy her a hard plastic candy receptacle, and boy, I was sure glad I did! Just before Halloween, we were playing at the park, and my daughter declared she had to go “numero dos”. My daughter was an early potty trainer; signed, sealed, and delivered at 2 years, 2 months. This was by no means a reflection on my brilliant mothering skills. My son finally trained at 4-and-a-half. I was convinced that kid would be wearing diapers to his senior prom.
At any rate, we were in a desperate situation, and the Parks and Rec folks had already locked down all the bathrooms for the winter. I thought I could get her to squat in the woods, but she refused. The nearest bathroom, in my estimation, was a mile away. I’m sure you can guess where this story is going.. In a moment of inspiration, I ran to the car and grabbed that smiling jack-o-lantern. Well we really gave him something to smile at, and he made one heck of a potty chair. Needless to say, my daughter once again trick-or-treated with a paper bag as candy carrier that year. Some things are just not meant to be when you grow up in my family.