1. October 1st. Ask your kid what they want to be for Halloween. Don’t skip this one, it’s essential for maximum fun.
2. October 2nd. Go to the pop-up Halloween store, the one that you have no idea where it came from or where it goes the other 11 months out of the year. Have a mild heart attack at the ten-foot-tall murderous clown that moves and cackles with a bloody knife as soon as you enter the store.
3. Buy the exact witch costume your kid said they wanted. Add a few extra accessories you’re sure they’ll squeal with joy over. Spend at least three times what you meant to spend—it’s ok though, they’ll love it. Give the murder clown a look on the way out. Is it laughing at you?
4. Show your kid the costume you spent your life savings on. Listen to the wails as they melt into the floor, insisting they never said they wanted to be a witch. Lion. They said lion, they know they did, and they’ll never stop crying unless they can be a lion.
5. Agree to the lion, you must have heard wrong. Lie awake all night because the murder clown now lives rent-free in your head. At least he’s not in your house. Or is he?
6. October 5th. Return to the Halloween store. Is the murder clown in a different spot now? Is he salivating? Exchange the witch for the lion. Why is this costume three times more expensive than the witch?
7. October 6. Show your child the lion costume. They love it! In fact, they love it so much, they must wear it right now. Take all tags off, help them into it, clap a hand over your smiling face, and remark on how cute your little fuzzy lion looks. Rawr.
8. Exactly 7.3 minutes after cutting the tags off, swallow a seismic scream when your child tells you they actually want to be a mermaid.
9. Drag yourself into the Halloween store that afternoon, despite the fact that you’re now having consistent heart palpitations because of the murder clown. Is he winking at you?
10. Have a 27-minute conversation with a pimply-faced teenager about why you can’t return the lion because the tags are off. Remortgage your house to buy a mermaid costume. Return home with both.
11. October 7th. Your child insists on putting on the mermaid costume the moment they wake up, right before they insist on pouring their own giant bowl of cereal for breakfast.
12. Watch in horror as your child spills the entire bowl of cereal and milk all over the costume that feels strangely like it will disintegrate in the washing machine despite costing more than your washing machine.
13. Wipe your tears with the lion’s tail. It’s yours to keep, after all.
14. Throw the mermaid costume into the washing machine with a silent prayer to the laundry gods.
15. Surprise! The costume survived the wash. Show your child the clean, un-ruined costume in a rush of relief. Watch as they meet you with a blank stare, completely unaware of the monumental success you’ve just accomplished. They ask you for the lion costume.
16. October 8th-25th. One piece of each costume goes missing per day. You know it all has to be in the house, but it’s nowhere to be found. Maybe they can be some sort of mermaid-lion hybrid at this point? Try to sell this idea. Fail miserably. At least once per day, swear you hear that murderous clown laughing from somewhere in your house. Shake your head and laugh. He’s not here—is he?
17. October 27th. Magically convince your child that a mer-lion is where it’s at, for the low low price of 42 Snickers bars and your sanity. Set out with your little feline sea queen for the town Trunk-or-Treat. Was that a clown that just ducked behind that car?
18. Notice all the other super-moms who have matching costumes to their little monsters, or even worse, full family costumes. Look down at your coffee-stained sweats, cry, swear a little too loudly. Make yourself feel better by stealing peanut butter cups from your child’s candy bag.
19. October 28th. Search your house for some sort of costume to match your little one for the big day, but all you can come up with is a set of Mardi Gras beads and a bowler hat. Realize you’ll never be that mom. Eat 17 more Snickers bars.
20. October 29th. Wake up in a cold sweat from a dream about that damn murder clown. It was a dream, right? Dull the trauma with 37 mini Twix bars.
21. October 30th. Call your therapist because you’re sure you just heard your child say they changed their mind and they want to be the witch instead. As you peel out of the driveway back to the Halloween store yet again, swear you hear the murder clown laughing in the background. Laugh at yourself to keep from crying. Get it together, really.
22. Arrive at the Halloween store only to find it emptied out. Completely. Seriously, where did they go? One stray hanger swings on an otherwise empty bar. Even the murder clown is gone. Someone bought him, right? Eat your weight in Milky Ways when you get home while you stare into the distance and contemplate life.
23. October 31st. Pour the Halloween candy into a bowl only to find that it’s all empty wrappers. Who ate all of these? Make a mental note to complain to the store for selling you an obviously empty bag of candy. Set out a bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats and Monopoly money and hope no one notices.
24. Walk into your child’s room with their new witch costume in hand—the one you stayed up all night sewing by hand. You’re exhausted but ready for a magical night of sugar-loading.
25. Scream internally and question your entire existence when they tell you they decided they actually want to be a ghost, and they found this old white sheet in the linen closet that will be so easy. And—they pause for emphasis—it’s free!

Finally, time to go trick or treating. “Mom!” you hear, as you’re pouring your road-beverage. “When did you get this decoration? So cool!” But you’re sure the only decoration you have is a mangey-looking spider that’s been sitting on the front steps since last Halloween.

Poke your head out the door, about to say “What decoration?” when you see it. The murder clown on your front lawn. Smiling. Did that knife just move a little?