I was a full-on candy monster as a kid, always keeping a stash of the stuff in my room and spending my allowance on bulk gummies. So Halloween? It was kind of my Oscars (I was also a theater kid). I viewed it as an opportunity to pull in some major supply that would last me well into the long, cold winter. For me, trick-or-treating was not so much about what I dressed up as; it was about what was in my pillowcase-bag when the too-short night was done.

Now I’m a mom, and my son, Lou, has food allergies. Specifically candy-inhibiting ones, too: peanuts, dairy, egg, sesame, cashews, and pistachios. He can have most gummy candies (which makes me, a gummy person, relieved), but most of the popular Halloween stuff — your peanut M&Ms, your Reeses’ Peanut Butter Cups, and even your standard milk chocolate bars — are extremely off-limits.

So what’s a candy-loving mom to do?

Last year, Lou had just turned 3. He was dressed as the world’s cutest fireman, and he didn’t much mind that his dad and I stood alert at his side at every house, making sure he took only what was safe. When we got home, he was pumped to eat all of the OK’d fruit-based stuff in his bag, plus some extra gummy bears that we’d bought as backup. I took a video of him saying “I love candy,” a wry smile on his face and a plastic fireman’s hat sitting backwards on his head. That, I thought, is my son.

But as this year’s holiday approaches, I’m more wary. We’ve got some things in place; it’s been determined that Lou will dress as Daniel Tiger, and we’re on the hunt for the perfect knit red cardigan.

But the candy part — in my memory, the only part that matters — will still, for lack of a better word, suck. The plan is to do what we did last year, but with a few added layers of protection: first up, talking to him beforehand about being careful, and about why he can’t eat anything until mom and dad have approved it. Next is employing some kind of magical realism tactic, such as the Switch Witch, a new tradition that seems to be popular with other allergy moms in my allergy moms Facebook group. Third is bringing backups for the backups: not just extra gummy bears (of which there will be many), but also extra little toys, like stickers and temporary tattoos, that can help to calm any in-the-moment distress when a particular piece of candy is denied. (Here, I have to shout out the teal pumpkin project, which aims to spread the non-candy love for allergy kids far and wide. May it multiply.)

My last move will, I think, be the most important long-term. We, I’ve decided, will be a Halloween house. Instead of fearing Halloween — a holiday that does, after all, revolve around being gifted stuff that’s fatal for us — we’ll embrace it.

We’ll hang up glowing bat lights, carve pumpkins, and decide on costumes in July. We’ll be the first ones to hit the streets and the last ones to head home. At the end of the night, we’ll all sit on the kitchen floor and work together to categorize the year’s haul, say goodbye to unsafe items, and stuff ourselves with sanctioned sugars. We’ll all go to sleep late and wired, and wake up exhausted but happy, talking about what a blast we had.

For us, and all the other food allergy families, Halloween really can’t be what it was for me as a kid: unbridled, candy-fueled and candy-driven chaos. But this year, and forever after, I’m betting that we can make it something good.

Jana Pollack is a freelance writer, editor, and creative strategist with over a decade of experience in digital media. She previously worked at theSkimm and at BuzzFeed, and has bylines in Romper, Insider, and Jenny Mag, among others.