Walking the neighborhood with Benjamin on Halloween is an exercise in community. Several homes had fire pits in the yard, and tables bursting with delectables, which he took great care in perusing. The air was mild enough that some doors were flung open, which felt like a small miracle in the aftermath of three years when some of us had no visitors at all. 

He was a scientist, with safety goggles. John had equipped Ben with an experiment, in which the combination of baking soda, red dye, and vinegar makes an explosion. But once he performed it, there was no trace of his empirical evidence. So he told jokes. 

"What state makes the smallest soda?"

"Minnesota."

Ben was pleased to see some of his favorite characters, including Belle and Mrs. Potts. There were two sizes of Poohs, and an enthusiastic Tigger. As chance would have it we actually ran across his bestie, who was dressed as a nurse with her stethoscope around her neck. They hugged in the middle of the street. 

I asked a couple of young moms how they handle the abundance of sweets. I have heard of interesting strategies over the years, from binging, to buying it back, to a mother tax. Others let a few squeak by and save the rest for gingerbread houses. 

A wise mother told me pre Halloween that one day her daughter managed to score four Oreos. She ate them all at once, and the little girl's behavior went haywire. If the mother had held any doubts about sugar before, she no longer did. 

I thought about those instances when we forget to give Ben his meds. Life gets dicey living inside his body, and usually one of his errant parents will check the box to see a small white pill waiting, almost mocking, from its cubicle. Apparently the science happening inside his skin is much like that of vinegar and soda. 

The effects of what we eat, or don't eat, impact how we feel. I wonder if I could give grace to someone who seems to be overreacting. 

Maybe I could just give them a hug.