I'm sitting here, debating which orange shirt to wear to the Halloween party this morning. It's obvious what Nicholas will be wearing: his lion costume pictured here. I've had it on him at various times over the past week in hopes of getting him used to the hood. Sometimes he likes it well enough. Sometimes he's not so much into the hood and will pull it off. We go with the flow, really, as you have to when you have children.

I'm excited! This is Nick's first Halloween party and his first Halloween weekend. Come Tuesday, it will be his first actual Halloween. Not that the poor kid gets to eat any candy. No, this year? Halloween is all about me. Me? Oh yes. Why else would I subject my Son to a costume that he will be angry about in the future, take a million pictures and generally beam with pride over the cuteness of my child when he, in fact, doesn't even get candy as a reward. Poor, poor Kid. Someday, child, you can eat some candy. Not all of it, but some of it.

Yet, big holidays like this are always met with a little twinge of sadness in my soul. Today as I was getting up I realized that I didn't remember what the Munchkin was for her first Halloween. I think it was last year that she was a cat because she wasn't interested in wearing the hood but wanted to play with the kitty at her grandmother's office. Yes, that was last year. So what was she the year before? I have no clue. And that makes me sad.

Now, some parents are sitting here saying, "Psssh, I don't remember what my kid was for their x-halloween." That's fine for you. It's weird for me. I have a photographic memory. I can tell you, visually, exactly what outfit I was wearing on the first day of school clear through my high school years. I inherited this strange, basically useless gift from my paternal grandmother. I can tell you what other were wearing, what colors certain people wore to prom and what rubber band I had in my hair, whether for pig tails or a braid. So not knowing what the Munchkin was on Halloween is a strange, strange feeling. Again, I somehow feel like a failure!

Let's see, I've been: a bear, a ballerina, a Pitt cheerleader. A kitty cat, black of course. A pink crayon! One of my only "bought" costumes was a California raisin. I've been a bride, complete with a Dad and a shotgun. (Slight irony there, looking back.) I was Ariel and my brother was Sebastian. I was Jasmine and my brother was Aladdin. I was Little Red Riding Hood during those last trick-or-treating years of late middle school... and still have the costume... which still fits thanks to a small panel put into the skirt. (Thanks, Grandma!)

I can see the colors, the textures of the fabric and the smiles in each of these Halloween memories. I remember the fact that I couldn't wear sandals when I was Jasmine because it was randomly snowing on Halloween. (I was pretty mad and I loved snow as much then as I do now. Don't mess with my Halloween!) In our area, you didn't walk from house to house. No, the nearest house, besides Grandma and Grandpa's, was over a mile away. We drove. I remember each car of my parents, piling out, piling in.

I don't know if the Munchkin walks from house to house. I don't know if she has a plastic orange pumpkin head to carry or a bag with reflectors or a pillowcase. I don't know if she knows how to say "TRICK-OR-TREAT!" I don't even know if D forces her to watch "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown," every year. Side note: Nicholas began his tradition by watching it yesterday. You can catch a video of him not caring a smidge about it at the end of this video montage. Enjoy!)

So, later today, after our Halloween party fun (and then some grocery shopping), I will ask D, "What was Munchkin for her first Halloween? What are your traditions? How do you celebrate the day?" It's the strangest thing knowing that one of your children is growing up with different traditions... and so it's simply in everyone's best interest if I learn about their own traditions. Maybe we'll incorporate them into our home. And maybe they'll watch Charlie Brown.