When it comes to?‚? relating?‚? to other moms, I realize that there’s a big difference between being?‚? nosy and?‚? judgmental?‚? and being a caring, concerned friend. For example, while the?‚? judgemental mom might make her mommy friend feel guilty for not?‚? properly bundling up her child on an outing to the park in cold weather, the concerned but caring mom would simply offer an extra blanket if she had one to spare.

However,?‚? I often find that the line between being judgmental?‚? and being?‚? concerned is not always so?‚? easy to judge. For example, a few months ago, during one of my son’s playgroup dates, the topic of sports came up among the moms present. One of the new moms, who had just joined the group recently, mentioned that she and her husband love to play tennis and basketball.

“Wow”, I said. “You have time to play tennis and basketball with an infant??‚? That’s great. I haven’t exercised?‚? at all since my son was born. Who watches?‚? your baby while you guys play?”

“Oh,” she said, “no one has to watch the baby?‚? for us because we play with the baby.”

“You play with the baby? What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

“Oh, it’s easy,” she explained. “I just strap my daughter into the Baby Bjorn and play with her. She loves it. In fact, she usually just falls asleep while we play.”

As I looked around the room at the handful of other moms?‚? listening in to the conversation, I noticed that almost all of their mouths were hanging open. As was mine.

This girl was playing tennis and basketball with her baby strapped into her Baby Bjorn? Was she serious? Hadn’t she ever heard of shaken baby syndrome?

Immediately, I thought to myself, “Could this explain her baby’s listlessness? Could this baby, who was?‚? always very quiet and almost always asleep?‚? during the few outings she had attended with the mom’s group, actually have brain damage because her?‚? mother bounced her around several hours a week playing sports?”

By the time I had wrapped my mind around it, she had changed the subject. But for the rest of that day and for weeks later, it bothered me. Should I say something to her? Warn her about the dangers of bouncing her little bitty 14-pound baby around on the tennis court? Tell her that the bones of?‚? her child’s skull had yet to?‚? completely grow together? Was it possible that she really didn’t know this? I felt compelled to say something.

And yet, something stopped me.?‚? Part of me felt like?‚? it wasn’t my place to say anything. And after all, she is the mother of the baby not me. Plus, I hadn’t seen them playing tennis or basketball. Maybe, somehow, she could play without really moving. Maybe the image of her jostling that baby up and down for an hour three times a week was just me over-reacting and not understanding the situation.

So, I never did say anything.?‚? And in retrospect, I feel a little guilty about it. I mean, if that had been me, and I had been putting my baby at risk without realizing it, I would have wanted another mother to say something to me. It might have hurt my pride at the time, but I would have appreciated it.?‚?

So, now I am just left wondering if her baby is OK. I saw her again recently and was relieved to see that her daughter, now a one-year-old,?‚? appeared normal. But if I had to do it over again, I would have said something. Only I would approached it delicately, and rather than?‚? blurting out, “Are you crazy?!”, which is what I was thinking,?‚? I would have simply suggested the following: “Perhaps you might want to consider taking up a hobby like Scrabble instead.”

Given that inexpensive, highly-detailed injection molded latex masks and theater quality makeup is a rather recent technological advancement, I’m sure even the youngest of us here can remember the more “creative” ways our parents had to adorn us for the Halloweens of our youth. From the plastic poncho/mask getups (good lord, I think I remember the “Gabe Kaplan”) to the homemade atrocities — and if you’re a geezer like me, you’ll have a fond recollection of “Kooky Spooks” — there’s bound to be a deeply harbored embarrassing Halloween that only your therapist knows about. Until now.

Spill your guts and tell us about your worst Halloween memory ever in the comments below. The story that we will very arbitrarily decide (no whining) tomorrow is best scores an Imperfect Parent t-shirt, as well as the added benefit of unloading some emotional baggage. To get you in the spirit, I’ll start:

My most vivid Halloween costume memory is the year I was dressed as Peter Pan. And not some Ben Franklin version, we’re talking a homemade costume done entirely in green felt, with a feather in the hat, shoes, the whole nine yards. Which might have been cute on a toddler, but although I can’t remember the exact age I wore it, I was most certainly too old to be prancing around in green tights. I mean, seriously, I think this might have been third grade. The whole experience may explain why I enjoy shopping for clothes and have a penchant for high quality moisturizers.

I might have felt guilt for this revulsion towards the costume that my mom painstakingly made for me, except that she didn’t — IT WAS A HAND-ME-DOWN. From what other emotionally scarred kid I got it from, I don’t remember.

Your benchmark has been set.

(It should go without saying that if you wish to claim your prize, you need to provide your actual email address in the comment form.)

Halloween today in no way resembles the Halloween of my youth. We trick-or-treated with pillow cases until 10pm, dumping them out at home once full and then heading back out again.?‚? House after house, street after street was?‚? bustling with costumed kids and adults.?‚? We yelled “trick-or-treat” in unison no matter our age.?‚? It wasn’t until I was probably about my daughter’s age, 11, that?‚? anyone start “checking” the candy for razors or other special things.

Even though my neighborhood has lots of kids, I’ll be lucky if?‚? I?‚? see one Elmo and a smattering of princesses.?‚? Trick-or-Treating in my town is from 3 to 7.?‚? I guess doling out the three bags of candy I bought today is?‚? not only?‚? a pipe dream, but tomorrow’s dinner as well.?‚?

And as?‚? if remembering the glory of Halloweens past?‚? my isn’t enough, my preteen daughter hit up history for her hippie costume,?‚? and that?‚? whole ordeal catapulted me?‚? right into the future.I did not put one even one Halloween decoration this year, and my kids didn’t care. My 14 year old shrugs his shoulders at the mention of Halloween, just hopeful I bought candy he likes. My daughter is going to a friend’s house after school, putting on her costume and trick-or-treating with other pre-teen girls in their neighborhood.?‚? ?‚? That means she won’t even our doorbell.?‚?

It also means my photos of tomorrow’s event will be handed to me from an eleven year old, not uploaded from my digital camera.

Unless of course I put on a costume of my own and follow her around.?‚? Which I threatened to do?‚? promised I would never do.?‚?

Anyway in this day and age, that would probably get me arrested.

?‚?

?‚?

I purposely leave?‚? my Halloween shopping until the day before Halloween.

It makes sense:?‚? I don’t have bags of candy tempting me from the pantry, and I might even be able to pick up some goodies on sale.?‚? My kids don’t get a new costume every year, so I don’t have to worry that they’ll get stuck with the costumes that nobody else wanted, three sizes too big for them.?‚? We didn’t even carve a pumpkin this year - those suckers are expensive.?‚? I bought a bag of gourds instead.

But as stores begin displaying merchandise earlier and earlier in the season, I’m discovering that my approach isn’t as foolproof as it used to be.

I went to the Disney Store three weeks ago, where the costumes were already marked down to 50% off.?‚? A friend of mine went last week:?‚? Not a single one left.

I went to the grocery store this morning to get Halloween candy for the trick-or-treaters, and some candy corn to decorate cupcakes for Tacy’s class party.?‚? I found a lone bag of candy corn on a high shelf.?‚? If it hadn’t been out of place, and if I hadn’t been determined to find it, I would’ve gone home emptyhanded.?‚? Out of the hundreds of bags that went on display in August, one lousy bag of candy corn was left.

This afternoon, I’m heading to the craft store for trick-or-treat bags.?‚? Maybe I’ll actually find some, buried in the Christmas paraphernalia.

It’s hard being straight as an arrow sometimes. It lends it self to being judgemental and feeling uncomfortably holier-than-thou. I tend to have a rather firm grasp on human nature and behaviors, but there is a phenomenon that eludes me.

I was one of two single people at a huge Halloween party last night, and probably also one of two or three who wasn’t drunk, or high, or both.

How do parents reconcile being drunk as skunks or high as kites and going home to children, big or small?

Most of these people also had to drive home, although locally. Most of these people also had babysitters who presumably needed rides home as well. And what happened if one of any number of children across manicured lawn lines woke up in the middle of the night?

“Sorry that I woke you with my hysterical giggling little Joey, Momsie will take this lampshade off her head as soon as she’s done with the bag of Cheetohs?”

And what about teens? How do you teach teens to not drink or do drugs when you are? Is this classic do as I say not as I do? Do these parents think the teens have no clue?

Certainly there are things appropriate for adults and not for children or teens, but I’m not sure I’m on board with drugs and excessive alcohol consumption being two of them. Not with the propensity of teens to abusive and addictive dangerous behaviors.

I’m not here to argue whether or not pot is addictive or if it should be a legal substance. That’s not the issue, and fact is, it’s not legal. Nor is drinking under 21. I’ve heard arguments for teaching kids to handle alcohol responsibly before they can legally drink because they’re going to do it anyway — does that also mean helping them roll a joint, handing them condoms and a copy of Kama Sutra?

Ok, I’m officially an old fart.

Fact is that I gave up smoking pot over 20 years ago and have no interest in going back to it. And while I like a glass of Pinot Noir as much as the next gal, one or two is my limit, and if I’m driving - the limit is one. I take no pleasure in getting drunk at this stage of my life, while knocking back a half dozen martini’s seems to fit the bill nicely for many. I don’t get it. To me it seems very immature and irresponsible.

I guess the bottom line is something I’ve been telling my kids since they could ask “Why?”

Grown-ups get to make their own decisions.

And it will serve me well to remember that, because while it’s true, all I could think of last night were two simple words.

GROW UP.

We all don’t do the same things for fun or find the same things “acceptable.” And I try to teach my kids and live a life of tolerance and inclusion, but this is something I not only want no part of, I do not want to even pretend to condone it.

I tolerate behavior like this by removing myself from the situation. My kids weren’t at this party, so I was nobody’s mama. Nor was I interested in dispensing my blog-worthy self-righteous wisdom to 40 and 50-somethings with bloodshot eyes and the munchies.

I left at 10:30 with an honest-to-goodness headache that I couldn’t shake. But I wasn’t sorry. It’s no fun talking to people who are drunk or high, so I did my best mingling, during the early hours and then went home.

I’m realistic. I know that my kids will undoubtedly have friends and friends’ parents do things I don’t approve of, and that sometimes they’ll be on board as well.

All I can do is my best. And while sometimes that includes the drive-thru at Baskin & Robbins, it does not include excessive drinking or the use of drugs.

Now one may argue that Pralines and Cream is addictive, and you’d get no argument from me. But thankfully at last check it was still legal.