Halloween 2025--the night when my husband turned me on maybe more than he ever has before.

Halloween has always been my absolute favorite holiday. There’s just something about the collision of being an extreme extrovert and having an outlet for my creative side in the form of costumes—it’s tailor-made for a blonde girl from South Central Texas whose brain never shuts off and who talks too much.

When I was a kid, I’d spend hours digging through my grandma and great aunt’s leftover bins of clothing to make my own costumes. In high school, I did the same for my “home” costume, but for parties I leaned hard into the Cady Heron philosophy: “In girl world, Halloween is the one night when a girl can dress like a total slut…” I was a master at switching costumes in Bub’s truck on the way to a party.

By college, I didn’t even pretend to hide it—tits and ass out, dressed as the typical slutty cat, angel, or vampire—and I loved every single one of those four Halloweens.

Things got more docile but no less fun once I had kids of my own. My sisters and I would wear our matching dirndls (Jenn’s being an original that belonged to our great-grandma from very German Fredericksburg, and me and Jess’s being perfect replicas). The husbands would light little bonfires in our copper fire pits, and our neighborhood would turn into Halloween Central. Those were some of my absolute favorite nights with family.

So it hit me harder than I expected that we’d be spending this Halloween in Arizona. We’d originally planned for it to be one of our weekends home in Texas, but after so many trips back for my dad’s situation, it made sense to stay put.

At least my brother and his fiancée, Evie, were staying with us instead of being in Yuma, so we had some hints of “home.” Still, there was this subtle air of making the best of it as Friday rolled around.

Both kids had classroom parties, and I volunteered to help. In a funny role reversal, TJ wanted nothing to do with me at school, while Abby wanted to show off her baby sister to all her classmates. I wore my dirndl, packed my cupcakes, and headed out feeling like maybe—just maybe—it would be a fun day.

And honestly? It was. Abby was an absolute sweetheart with Ashley, and the kids doted on her almost as much as they loved musical chairs and Witch’s Brew. I met some great new moms and hit it off with Abby’s teacher—we traded war stories from the classroom trenches.

Halfway through the party, the school secretary opened the door and said, “Mrs. McC… since you’re here anyway, would you mind coming to talk to the principal?”

I was riding such a social high that I thought smugly, Oh, I know where this is going. They’ve heard about me being a super young assistant principal and they’re going to offer me a job. How flattering!

I even chuckled to myself as I walked the breezeway—because what else could it possibly be?

Then I opened the door.

And there sat my seven-year-old son, along with two other boys, in the universal I’ve been caught pose—eyes down, hands folded, tiny storm clouds of guilt hovering over their heads. TJ even looked up at me like, Thank God, my mom’s here—she’ll straighten this out.

The principal invited us in and explained that my “super thoughtful” son had been so upset at the idea of having to eat cupcakes with coconut shavings that he and two friends had conspired to steal them and throw them away in the trash can by the basketball court.

To say I was deflated is an understatement. I know he can be mischievous, but this felt mean in a way that stung. It still bothers me that it didn’t occur to him to simply say, “No thank you,” instead of tossing someone’s hard work in the trash.

The principal calmly told me that TJ and the others wouldn’t be allowed back at the party—they were effectively suspended for the rest of the day. I agreed completely and told her we’d go home and start writing apology letters—to the girl who’d made the cupcakes, her parents, his teacher, and his class.

TJ was dejected. I was crushed to leave when I’d actually been having fun. Abby was furious that Ashley had to go home. And the mom whose cupcakes got tossed? The look she gave me could’ve cut glass.

Once we were in the car, I tried to stay calm. I told TJ I was disappointed and that what he’d done was so unlike him. Instead of taking responsibility, he said, “I’m only in trouble because Halle snitched on me.”

Deep breath.

“No, buddy,” I said. “You’re in trouble because you did something mean when you had so many other choices.”

By the time we got home, it had devolved into a full-blown yelling match. For all my years in education, it turns out parenting your own student is a whole different beast.

Finally, I snapped. “Get in your room, James, and don’t come out! There is no way you’re trick-or-treating tonight!”

My brother Brian—ever the helpful sibling and TJ’s older doppelgänger—decided to chime in: “Well, sis, he kinda has a point. It’s what I would’ve told Mom and Dad.”

The glare I gave him must’ve been lethal, because Evie grabbed his arm and said they’d go pick up Abby from school.

What I didn’t know was that Bubs had left work early to help us get ready for trick-or-treating. So as he opened the front door, TJ finally cracked open his own.

“Goddammit, Mom! Why can’t you ever take my side!” he yelled—completely unaware his dad was standing right behind him.

I took a step forward, ready to deliver one swift palm to the backside, when Bubs placed a hand on TJ’s shoulder—which got his attention far more than my light swat ever could.

“James,” he said evenly, crouching to his level, “that woman is not only your mom—she’s my wife. And I don’t allow anyone to talk to her like that. Not even you. Do you understand me?”

And I swear—swoon. Something about my man stepping in like that, with no clue what had happened, just pure instinct to defend me—even against the kid we share—might’ve been the sexiest thing he’s ever done.

TJ nodded, wide-eyed.

Bubs asked for the quick rundown, then sat with TJ in his room, helping him write his apology letters. He explained that in our family, we don’t do things that are thoughtless or cruel.

Later, TJ came out and read his apology letter to me while Bubs stood behind him. His punishment was simple but firm: he’d deliver the letters in person on Monday, accept whatever additional consequence his teacher and principal gave him, and he’d stay home on Halloween night to hand out candy—no costume, no exceptions.

He didn’t argue—just looked heartbroken. And even though it broke mine too to watch him take off what was left of his costume while the rest of us got ready to go out, I stood by it. I can tolerate mischief, but I can’t tolerate mean.

If there was one silver lining to being outside our Texas neighborhood, it’s that Abby got to cover way more ground and came home with so much candy she even offered to share with her brother. I stayed dressed in my dirndl, Bubs and Brian dressed as “runners” (how original, boys—you wore the exact same thing you ran in this morning), and Evie—while not trying to be a “sexy clown”—got more sideways glances from gawking dads and jealous moms than I thought possible.

All the adults took turns staying home to pass out candy with TJ—who had to face some of the same classmates who knew the story of him throwing away the cupcakes. Usually he’s a social butterfly, but that night every one of them looked at him like, “Really, TJ? Why?” And that quiet social shame—we like you, but that wasn’t cool—was probably the most effective punishment of all.

So no, this wasn’t Halloween back in Texas (which, by the way, went amazing—though everyone said they missed us). But it’s one we’ll never forget.

Especially Bubs.

My dirndl has always been off-limits for any sort of fantasy fulfillment—but after the way he took my side that night, let’s just say: Ich möchte mit dir schlafen, mein Schatz.