Halloween, wildly anticipated by our son Nic, was an occasion for dress up followed by cake for Emma. “Have Halloween party and cupcake?” Emma asked yesterday afternoon.
“We aren’t having a party, but we will go out trick or treating and we can get you a cupcake while we’re out,” I said, knowing Emma wouldn’t care about the candy she acquired while trick or treating.
“Get cupcake? Have cupcake now?” Emma said.
“In a little while, Emma.”
“Go trick or treating,” Emma said with a bit less enthusiasm.
For Emma it was all about the cupcake. The cupcake, which would give her the opportunity to sing – Happy Birthday, regardless of the fact no one was celebrating a birthday. Cupcakes = Birthdays = singing = joy, pure and simple.
Emma insisted on wearing her one-and-a-half-inch heeled, pointy-toed witch’s shoes, her black witch’s hat and completed the entire outfit by carrying a black broom. “Mommy carry candy bag?” Emma asked when we got outside.
“No Em. This is for you. You have to hold the bag and when we get to the first house you open the bag and say – Trick or Treat!” I coached. We went through the same routine last year and the year before that.
“Trick or treat!” Emma repeated happily while Nic rolled his eyes.
“Mom, she doesn’t even care about the candy,” Nic said in a tone of resigned disbelief.
“I know Nic,” I said.
As we made our way out to join the quickly gathering crowds in Chelsea, Emma ran ahead. Her head down, witch’s hat with its purple band jutting upward, her little heels clicking as she went. “Em! Em! Wait!” One of us would periodically yell.
It was cold last night. But Emma seemed impervious to the chill. She accompanied us for the 20 blocks we roamed, up and down, back and forth, without complaint. We stopped along the way to buy her a cupcake, where one of the customers standing in line upon seeing us, was heard to say, “This is what I love about New York City – the people have such commitment!”
We attempted to teach Emma to say Trick or Treat and either take a piece of candy from the bowl being offered or open her bag so that the offerings could be dropped inside. She never really got either action down and by the end of the night I stopped trying to coach her. She was content to walk along with us, watching Nic dart in and out, filling his bag.
Nicky! Nicky L!” Emma occasionally shouted when she lost sight of him. By the time we returned home, Emma struggled out of her witch’s costume, replacing it with one of her many princess dresses, where upon she dug into her cupcake with relish.
“Yum, yum!” Emma said, smiling broadly, her face covered in icing.
Halloween 2010 – Emma, Richard & Nic
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