Halloween is one of my favourite holidays, not inasmuch for what it is – a day that kicks off the downhill fun into Christmas (and Elf!) celebrating Wiccan traditions while simultaneously going into diabetic shock and freaking oneself out over a slasher flick – but as a day that represents the major events in my life.
Halloween was the day that Alastair and I fell into us. If not that day itself, it certainly was the start. It happened years and years ago (no, I’m not telling how many) and it’s an anniversary that we no longer really celebrate, as we hit the ctrl+alt+del on our relationship a few years ago and re-set everything. Still, it’s a day to drink coffee on the sofa together while the sun comes up (Two insomniacs, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona…) and drink something slightly more leaded than coffee while the sun goes down.
Halloween is also the official due date of the twins. It’s shocking to think that they still had four more weeks to go baking in the oven as opposed to the day they were actually born. They were taken out via emergency C-section, and the doctors were clear with me that left to my own body’s devices, they would not have made it out alive. It fills me with horror, that thought, so I try not to think of it.
I do that a lot. Instead of being an informed citizen, I have no problem switching off the news. I look the other way. I do this for one simple reason. Actually, I do it for two of them: Nick, and Nora. Bad things happen to good people, and if I can keep it at bay, if I can push it away, it’s another night’s sleep I’ll get. I pay attention to the news, I watch it nightly. But if you read online there’s absolutely always something involving children – a mother force-feeding her child to death, Baby P, an infant snatched from her cot in the night, and that sick fucker (in Texas, I think?) who beat a two year old, and although police shot him dead he still managed to kill the little boy.
These events are enough to make me want to fly up the stairs and bar the door of the twins’ nursery with the muttered threat that “you’ll have to get through me.” I think this is what happens, perhaps. You go from a citizen of the world to the head-in-the-sand “If I don’t see it, it doesn’t happen” type of stereotype. And it’s not that I’m that way, I’ll follow the news…until a child dies from falling out of a window. Until an earthquake wipes out an orphanage. Until…
It’s impossible to keep little ones safe without forcing them to live a sheltered life that has the propensity to swing the other way. That said, I’ve never been a big fan of that saying “When you have a child, it’s a piece of your heart out walking around outside of your chest” because A) it’s impossible to survive with your heart walking around outside of you and B) my heart is comprised of many hearts, including Alastair, Nick, Nora, Melissa, Jeff, my folks, and bacon. There is an intermediary, a step between wanting to protect them at every step, and in that “I’m right here behind you, I’ve got your back while you forge your way”.
The twins had their first ever trick-or-treating. We took them down our little lane only with a little girl who lives two doors down and who will be going to nursery with the twins. They dressed up in costumes and we bought them balloons with LEDs in them to light their ways, and I ran out and bought them both trick-or-treating baskets in the shape of giant felt spiders. Trick-or-treating isn’t big here, Halloween is one big afterthought here of hastily thrown together witch hats and bat boingy headbands (which, if I’m honest, sure beats having to deal with slutty Nemo costumes). The twins were unsure, but the lane, previously predominately a host to grandparents only, whose kids left home years ago, came to life with the pint-sized sweets seekers. All of our neighbors had run out to buy sweets for this night, for our three little ones, and they squealed with glee each time. A marvellous time was had by all, and we trust our neighbors (all 6 of them) so much that we’d even have taken a candy apple from them, something my own childhood would not have permitted, not ever, not if we’re trying to be safe.
And there it is – degrees of safe. We can be degrees of safe, measuring each step, checking each board. It’s not that I can’t read the stories of children coming to harm any more, it’s that I know it happens every day to lovely, perfect little ones, and carrying them all around gets quite heavy. These news stories always upset me, but having two pint sized people of my own now, means that it upsets me to new levels (am I alone in this?) I can kid myself and shelter myself from specific news stories, or I can not read them and accept that nothing will happy to our kids, not like that, not ever. We may not always get things right, but we will never get things that wrong.
Happy sort-of-anniversary. Happy almost-birthday. Happy-here-comes-Christmas.
Happy Halloween.
-S.
I know what you mean. Only, my rage is slightly different: Benevolent Deity gives babies to monsters, and I’m only granted the desire to be a mother, not the actual gift of motherhood. (and now if we see my step-daugher once a month, that’s a lot. so that doesn’t come close to satiating my desires)
Life is full of dangers for little children, but as long as there are responsible, caring adults looking after their welfare, I believe the risks are minimized.
And when it comes to you and protecting your kids I have this mental picture of you suiting up in a giant robot forklift/loader and daring anyone to bring harm to them with a snarled, “Get away from them, BITCH!!” Summoning your inner Ripley, so to speak.
A little cross-cultural Halloween ingenuity:
http://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/294407_10150342190926386_584661385_8712086_1509847245_n.jpg
I work in a crime lab. I generally refuse to watch the news (which sometimes leaves me unprepared when I get to work). I don’t want to know – I see enough when I get to work.
When we go trick or treating, we stop at the next door neighbor’s first. And she gives my daughter her homemade cookies and popcorn balls and says “Now, your mom knows these are from me, so you know you can eat them.”
I totally get what you are saying, sometimes when my anxiety is higher than normal, instead of dismissing that silly thought (you know the one.. what if she just ran out into the road now, what if she fell down those stairs, what if this fever is actually a deadly virus?) and not letting that thought get a hold of my head…. the thought consumes me and becomes more than I can cope with. Then I just need to grab a hold of my girls and bring them close and for a moment, try to shut out the world. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.
I can’t remember the last time I watched the news for more than 5 minutes. Either I’ll catch the bit right before the weather, or I’ll see some terrible story & turn it off.
My coworkers give me a lot of grief when I’m uninformed about big events but almost in the same breath admire that I don’t get filled with all the “crap” that goes on in our city, state, country, & world.
And if something’s REALLY noteworthy, I’ll hear about it from them first thing in the morning. : )
No, you are not the only one, but I didn’t think I’d still be doing it, now it’s because of the grandkids….it never ends apparently. Honestly, the only time I’ve regretted it was in Cancun and there was a hurricane coming, and it would have been good to know. I try to avoid the news as much as possible, and like someone above me said, if it’s that big a deal, I’ll hear about it from someone else anyway.
I stopped watching the news years ago. On that note, my blood pressure’s really nice and low.