I have very vivid memories of trick or treating as a kid. I remember one time, I saw that the woman had to leave the TV to answer the door. There was another person on the couch, and the two of them were obviously watching a movie. I could not possibly have been older than 8, and I distinctly remember thinking, “Those poor people. Watching a movie on Halloween! How boring! Too bad they can’t have fun, like I’m having.”

Last week, that memory flashed into my head again, only this time, I was standing in the middle of a dark street, trying to keep track of my son, who was running with a pack of boys, while pulling my toddler in a Red Flyer wagon (who, incidentally, went trick or treating in her swimsuit. Her brother’s old Spiderman boots added a nice touch, though.).

This time, I didn’t pity the couple in my memory. I understood them perfectly.

Our Halloween was full of fun, and probably was one of the best Halloweens my kids have ever had. But they weren’t the only ones who passed out at the end of it. I totally would have turned off all the lights and popped a movie in after the kids were in bed Saturday night, only I couldn’t have kept my eyes open if you paid me.

So it occurred to me that I’m officially a grown up. Adulthood isn’t defined by a mortgage, or a car that doesn’t break down every month, or by having to mow a lawn without getting paid. It means that snuggling on the couch watching a movie on Halloween looks a whole lot more fun than dressing up and begging for candy. It means breathing a sigh of relief when the whole holiday is over, that you don’t have to think about costumes or candy for another year.

I have arrived. And I’m okay with that.

On another sort of random note, I put paprika in the corn chowder I was making tonight. Paprika. If paprika isn’t a grown-up spice, I don’t know what is.

What defines being a grown up for you?