Hallo Weenie

Well, I think I’m sufficiently past Halloween now that I can talk about it.

I think that the great Pagan New Year is just going to be my red-light holiday. I can skate past Thanksgiving, breeze through Christmas and sleep through New Year’s Eve. I ate more buttercream icing at my wedding than I have in the last decade, so birthdays pose no threat to me. Today when Howard stopped to check in with some Ben & Jerry’s sorbet, I looked on, unfazed. Weight Watchers and my devoted husband have pulled me along, so that now when I say I’m disciplined, I mean that I’m disciplined in how I eat, rather than by what I eat. Every day is regimented, satisfying, and healthy. Every day is a treat to be in my 145.50 pound, size 3 frame. I love who I am, and I love who I have become.

Except on Halloween.

Last year, I had a total meltdown at work. The CEO announced that kids would be trick-or-treating in the building, and so I bought 2 bags of snack-sized candy and put them out at my desk. Tragedy ensued. I still can’t believe that I lost weight that week, though considering how little real food I was ingesting, perhaps it’s not so incredible.

I rallied immediately, and managed to keep from pilfering DS’s candy stash, despite the fact that my old favorite, a Reese’s cup came home in his plastic trick-or-treating pumpkin. I put the pumpking out in the garage, and eventually forgot about it. When I went to retrieve his pumpkin this year, there sat the Reese’s, fused to a bag of Skittles and a trio of melted tootsie rolls. Summer in the garage had been unkind to this crowd, and I had to soak the bucket overnight to get them unstuck from the bottom.

I thought I was ready for Halloween this year. I’m a totally different person than I was last October, I rationalized. Back then, I was just 3 months into my diet. Right now, I’m 5 months into maintenance, and I’m so in tune with my body that I know exactly how to regulate my weight, right down to the amount of sticky rice I eat on sushi nights. I still get the Chocolate Heebies at PMS time, but they’re more annoyance than temptation, and anyway, my clothes all fit so tightly, even a 3 pound misstep would mean I’d be going to work in pajamas (which I do not own). So, motivations abound to keep myself in check, including the happiness and pride I feel at keeping myself down here in the 140s.

I opted to work remotely this Halloween, staying away from the cluster bombs of candy bowls that popped up like tulips all over the place. I would go home, lock myself in the house and stay there until DS returned with Lynda from his own jaunt around the neighborhood. My Amazing Boss, ever understanding and sympathetic, approved my request with good wishes.

Halloween came on a Wednesday this year. On Monday of that same week, a package arrived for me-some small gift from a vendor. I opened the package, ever wary of anthrax and letter bombs, and found instead a sealed glass jar of Hershey’s miniatures. I’d never before so hoped that the box had exploded instead. I stood up to hand it over to the Aussie triathlete downstairs who keeps a satchel of loot slung off the corner of her cube, when I saw a gleaming golden wrapper near the top. Reese’s miniatures. Suddenly, my brain flooded with all form of meeting rationale-you can’t deprive yourself, it’s better to have one than to binge later. There’s 35 points every week that you haven’t used in 18 months…and blah, blah, blah, excuse, excuse, excuse, until I decided that I was strong enough to handle it. I opened the jar, retrieved the nugget and had my little piece of heaven.

Well, woe to the atheist who considers it a good idea to eat the christian afterlife. My brain went completely into overdrive, and before I knew it, there were 4 unaccounted for wrappers in my trash. I marched the rest to the kitchen, dumped out the contents on the counter and went back to my desk and sat motionless until the insulin rush passed. I had a little Come To Leader meeting right there at my desk. Ok, then. I cannot be a ‘one-bite good, two-bite better stop’ Weight Watcher. I know this, and while I’m sorry that I experimented, it was probaby good for me to remind myself that I’m not strong enough to be around things that still attract me. I’ve build hedges of greens and fruits and lean turkey breast for a reason-they insulate me, and my spiking blood sugar, from myself.

So misstep has now come and gone, and I’m ready to announce that Halloween for me means a costume and some fun pictures for Grandma and Grandpa Florida, but nothing else. No 2-point turtle pie , no pumpkin fluff, none of this “I can have just a taste” reasoning, and no more thinking I’m far enough away from the Fat Lady to look back. I’d still turn into a chocolate bunny, apparently, and then I’ll eat my own ears just because they’re right in front of my face.

Wednesday arrived, and I showed up at work in full armor, loaded with a steely determination to eat nothing other than what I’d brought to work. I made it until 12:30, whereupon I packed up my laptop and raced home. I didn’t dare stop at the grocery store for much-needed milk. Candy goes on sale at Halloween, and it’s everywhere-at the register, beside the bread and tucked in behind the tampons. Actually, this last one is brilliant, but I was in no mood to appreciate genius marketing. I had to retreat.

Once home, I had my lunch, I made a pot of coffee, and I went downstairs to work. Unencumbered by interruptions and assaults on my vulnerable nose, I pounded out 3 days worth of assignments in about 4 hours. Around 5:00 I got up to refill my coffee mug and happened to look out the living room window as I passed through. A woman walked by, pushing a stroller and escorting two costumed children. Oh no! Halloween had come to Wheaton!

It was dusky already, and there were no lights on in the front of my house so it would be easy to pretend I wasn’t home. But I’m a momma now, and I wouldn’t want some cheap old lady to play possum at her place, just so DS couldn’t get his treat. So off I went. I drove to Jewel, bought the minimum amount of candy I thought I’d need for the 2 hours of trick or treating, and went home, determined not to open a single bag until the doorbell rang.

I made it home just in time to see the first clan leave my neighbor’s house and head across the lawn to my front door. I barely had time to yank the bag open before they rapped at my door. I dumped a stuffed handful into each bedsheet, made polite chatter with the moms while the kids ooo’d at their good luck and waved good-bye as they skipped off down the road.

I emptied the remaining candy into a big silver bowl and then dashed back to my office. I’d just stay downstairs, coming up only when someone arrived at the door. I’d stuff their bags as full as I could manage while holding the door open, and then I’d head back to my office, pretending there was Nothing To See in the living room.

Well, that lasted until I sent off a group of kids and could see the next group heading up the walk to my neighbor’s. I knew I wouldn’t have time to get downstairs, and it wouldn’t be practical. It was 5:45 by now, and I’d stopped working for the day. I stood by the door, my eyes glued to the children. I can do it, I can make it, I am stronger than those little chocolate squares.

I made it, but I’m shaken by the experience, and I admit that more than a few of the trick-or-treats wrappers wound up in my own trash can. It was nothing like last year, but it was more than I wanted (which was zero), and more than I needed (also zero). I just can’t trust myself to be around candy when I’m alone, especially on a holiday that’s all about forbidden indulgences.

On a happy note, I did discover this week that I can still eat pumpkin butter. It’s very sweet and it gets my sugar tooth going, but there's no fat in it, and just half a teaspoon in a dessert cup of fat free cool whip has me sighing in pleasure all evening. It’s enough for me, I really like it, and here’s the kicker: I can eat it in front of anyone and not feel guilt or shame. Maybe that’s my litmus test and my challenge. If I think I want something like this, I must eat it in front of someone. That ought to cure me of any more Halloween slip-ups.

But just in case I’m wrong, next year I’m going to take Howard’s advice and spend the afternoon at the library. Maybe I’ll put a Skinner Box on the porch, so each child can come to the house, pull a lever and get their goodies without me as the handout. I don’t mind the double standard, really; each person has to decide for themselves whether to buy and/or eat candy. And I’m not going to become one of those Moms who hands out apples or dental floss or play-doh. DS doesn’t need that kind of reputation, and anyway, that’s not how the U.S. celebrates this ‘holiday’. But I can’t be an active participant—I’m not ready. Perhaps I never will be. I hate that I had to fall off the wagon, AGAIN, to find out. But at least now I know for sure.

A the S(till in Rehab)