Halloween in Preschool-Where Candy Flies and Sugar Makes Everyone Go Crazy

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Day 6: Halloween in Preschool—Where Candy Flies and Sugar Makes Everyone Go Crazy

Dear Reader,

Day Six. Halloween in preschool. You'd think I'd be prepared for the pure madness that is a room full of sugar-fueled toddlers, but nope—every year it's a "whole new level" of wild.

It all started with the costumes. Oh, the costumes. I swear, by the time I made my way through the door, I had to take a minute to process what was happening.

Billy was *"Vampire Billy,"* except his idea of a vampire costume was a cape thrown over his pajamas with a pair of sunglasses slapped on. I had to take a second. *Sunglasses? Vampire? Okay, Billy.* "I'm *Vampire Billy*, Miss!" he announced, strutting around like he owned the place. I nodded, trying not to laugh. But when he tripped over his cape and faceplanted into the carpet, he popped right back up and said, "I'm still *Vampire Billy*!" No cape can stop a true vampire, right?

And then there was Sophie. Now, Sophie decided that *traditional costumes* were *way* overrated, so she came in as a "potato." But not just any potato—*a sparkly potato*. She had the tutu, the sparkles, and a headband that probably belonged on a princess. She walked in with a serious look and said, "Look, Miss! I'm a sparkly potato!" I just stared at her for a second before replying, "Well, of course, you are, Sophie. Who wouldn't want to be a sparkly potato?"

Then came snack time. Oh, snack time. That's when things *really* went off the rails. I can't even begin to describe what happened after the candy was handed out. It was like opening the floodgates to a candy apocalypse. First, candy *flew* across the room like it had a mind of its own. One piece managed to get stuck to the ceiling, and for the next ten minutes, the kids were determined to throw more candy up there to see if they could get it to stick again. They launched Skittles, M&Ms, and a poor, unsuspecting Reese's cup into the air like they were in an Olympic candy-tossing competition.

Meanwhile, the sugar started taking its toll. Timmy, who had been a *very* enthusiastic dinosaur earlier in the day, suddenly transformed into a *spinning top*. He began twirling around in circles, yelling, "I'm a *twirling ghost*! I'm a *twirling ghost*!" And then, *bam*, he crashed into the snack table, sending crackers flying in every direction. He didn't even blink. "I'm a *rolling ghost* now!" he said, as if that made perfect sense.

I barely had time to catch my breath before Mia (who, by the way, was a *princess*—a *very* sparkly princess) stood in the middle of the room, holding up her lollipop like a magic wand. "By the power of *candy*, I crown thee all *sugar kings*!" she announced, tossing glitter in the air for dramatic effect. The kids immediately gathered around, waving their lollipops like scepters and chanting, "Sugar kings! Sugar kings!" It was like a tiny, sugary royal ceremony, only everyone was shaking with the kind of energy that only Halloween candy can provide.

Now, snack time wasn't just about eating. Oh no. It was a free-for-all. I watched in slow-motion as a Reese's cup launched out of Timmy's hands and hit the window. And then, there was Jacob—*sweet little Jacob*—who decided that he was on a mission to pass out his candy like he was the *official candy distributor*. He'd hand out pieces with a straight face, announcing, "Here's your *power boost*." That's right. His candy wasn't just candy. It was fuel for superheroes. At one point, I couldn't even keep track of who had what because every kid was waving candy around like they had a secret mission and a deadline.

As the day wore on, the chaos only intensified. At circle time, when we were trying to calm down for a story, everyone was bouncing around like they had *jetpacks*. Sophie was *still* twirling around like a sparkly potato. Timmy was convinced he was the "*rolling ghost*," and Jacob was too busy giving out *power boosts* to actually sit down. I mean, at this point, I was just hoping for survival.

By the time the bell rang and parents began arriving, I looked around at the wreckage. There were candy wrappers everywhere, some mysteriously stuck to chairs, and half-eaten lollipops embedded in the carpet like they were little candy fossils. It looked like Halloween had exploded in the preschool, and we had somehow all survived it.

But you know what? That's the magic of Halloween in preschool. It's messy, it's sugar-fueled, it's chaos in the most *adorable* way. And honestly, it was worth every second.

So, dear reader, I leave you with this: next Halloween, when you think of costumes, candy, and preschoolers, just know that if you want to survive, you might want to bring a helmet. And some extra napkins.

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