I see you, the moms carefully prepping for October 31.
I see you carefully creating costumes that won’t irritate.
I see you scouring the web for the perfect pieces.
I see you sewing.
I see you driving all over town.
I see you ripping out the tags.
I see you crossing your fingers.
I see your sigh of relief when it works and the frustrated tears when it doesn’t.
I see you rehearsing the way to trick or treat, preparing for the sensory assault, and fine-tuning your evacuation plan.
I see you on October 31, moms of the children who want to be brave.
I see you sending off your anxious but resolute daughter into the carnival.
I see you assuring your son it’s ok not to wear a costume.
I see you crouching, soothing, whispering.
I see you cheering them on, showering them with praise.
I see you holding everything together.
I see you, too, moms who are proud of your children’s self-advocacy.
I see you treating October 31 like an ordinary night.
I see how you somehow make the night special for your family anyway.
I see your children handing out candy instead of receiving it.
I see you together inside, hiding from trick-or-treaters, watching favorite cartoons for the thousandth time.
I see you popping corn, reading books or playing games.
I see you watching “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!”
I see you, moms who are speechless when friends show kindness.
I see your gratitude when they ask how to include you in their plans.
I see you answer the door with joy when they stop by to bring your child a treat.
I see your lip tremble as you read the text, “How are you? Is the day going ok?”
I also see you when you feel alone.
I see how you lay down all your dreams to make new ones.
I see you when the friends don’t call, don’t message, don’t stop by.
I see you when you feel forgotten.
I see you cleaning up the remains of dinner, eyes threatening to spill, as you carry the tension between contentment that your child is happy and disappointment that you aren’t.
I see you holding your overwhelmed and exhausted child, drying their tears and holding back your own,
And I see you on November 1, when life returns to normal, whatever that means.
I see your shoulders relax because you made it.
I see you already preparing for the next big thing.
I see you loving, guiding, and praying.
I see you shepherding your child to be the man or woman God designed him to be,
and I see you making the world better for your child.
I clap for you, moms. I’m proud of you. I am you.
No matter what you’re feeling this October, I see you.