Three Costumes & One Grateful Heart

Costumes & Gratitude

Lily’s witch Minnie Mouse costume will arrive any day now — soft black velvet with a shimmer of purple tulle. Her dance recital falls just before Halloween, and she’ll wear it to class, twirling through warm-up stretches with her little mouse ears bobbing.

On Halloween, I’ll help her get dressed first, followed by Oak and Ash in their Goofy and Pluto costumes. The twins still let me coordinate their costumes, which fills me with a kind of tender joy I don’t take for granted. This is the first time Lily chose her own — a small milestone of independence.

Last year, I wasn’t sure I’d be here for this. And now, every detail feels like a gift.

Driveways & Porch Lights

In our neighborhood, Halloween is a celebration of togetherness. Neighbors will set up folding chairs in their driveways, some in costume, some dancing, all smiling. Music will drift from portable speakers, and the kids will dance from house to house, their buckets swinging, their voices rising in delight. It won’t be chaotic. It won’t be rushed. It will be joyful — and I’ll be there to witness it.

Ash and Oak will ride side by side in their little red wagon, their costumes soft against their cheeks. Lily will skip ahead, her skirt catching the breeze, her voice rising in song, as excited as ever. I’ll take pictures, of course — the kind I’ll print and tuck into albums, maybe post online. But mostly, I’ll just watch. I’ll listen. I’ll let the moment wrap around me like a warm blanket.

A Season of Sweetness

Halloween will mark the beginning of our favorite time of year. Not just the holidays or the string of birthdays that follow, but a rhythm of noticing. Of returning. Of remembering that time isn’t something to manage — it’s something to cherish.

There is a sweetness in the way Lily practices her dance steps in costume, her feet tapping out a pattern on the kitchen tile. In the way the boys will hold hands while they ride in the wagon and smile at the neighbors. In the way the porch lights will flicker on one by one, casting golden halos on the sidewalk as night settles in.

These are the moments I’ll hold close. Not because they’re perfect, but because they’re ours.

Just This

I won’t offer a grand takeaway. Just this: I’ll be here. And they’ll be here. And that will be enough.

This Halloween, I won’t be chasing milestones or measuring progress. I’ll walk beside three little ones dressed in joy — wrapped in fleece and felt and the kind of love that speaks without saying a word. We’ll watch the neighborhood glow with music and laughter, and I’ll let myself be present.

Gratitude will live in every step — in the weight of small bodies nestled in the wagon, in the rustle of tulle as Lily skips ahead, in the scent of crushed leaves and distant bonfires, and in the way her voice lifts into the evening air like a thread of light.

I’ll be there for all of it. And I’ll be grateful.