As it was Halloween in America, I went to Walgreens and spent about 15 bucks on candy this morning. During the afternoon, I heard my lovely 20-year-old daughter rip into not just one but both bags.

She tried to suck up by offering me a box of Dots. “They’re probably all green ones,” I said, waving it away. We have a rule that we only buy candy we would want left over, but still I tried to save it for evening.

Come trick or treat time, I was gone. The extra person we have living in our home needed a ride to work.

No matter. We had a lamp outside to make up for the burned-out porch light we haven’t figured out how to fix, and my husband likes admiring the little ones and their costumes more than I do anyway. I made the obligatory stops at Target (work) and Taco Bell (felt lazy) and came home to find him making hash marks on the refrigerator whiteboard.

We had 23 beggars tonight. I answered the last knock and tried to get the two stragglers to take everything that was left in the bowl, telling them all they had to do in exchange was straighten up the lamp that had been knocked over. They said, “No, we have to leave some for Aidan,” but they took care to upright the small lamp anyway.

In preparation for their friend, I examined the bowl. There was an empty wrapper, which often happens, although I have yet to discern why. After picking it out there still were three pretty good candy options left in the bowl.

Aidan stumbled up with his pillowcase a minute later, but no amount of prompting would get him to speak the traditional words. No matter. I tipped the bowl into his pillowcase, waited until he made it down the porch steps and shut the lamp off.