As Halloween’s are recorded into the record book of time, ours in 2017 won’t be one that breaks many records. Supermom and I decided early on that our energies would be focused on Disney and the rest of the month may be a wash. We set the bar low for Halloween and achieved everything we set out to do. In some ways it was a good holiday and in some ways we could have been better. But hey, that’s parenting right?
Let’s start with costumes. I dare say some bank robbers work harder on their outfits. Lady Bug was the most dressed up in her Vampirina outfit. For all of you who are out of the loop, Vampirina (if that is how you spell it?) is a cartoon about a small cutesy vampire girl who moves into a strange neighborhood and works to gain acceptance from her neighbors. Obviously a product of the liberal agenda and brainwashing children that blood sucking undead demons are harmless and should be welcomed with open arms because they struggle with the same emotional issues and desire for community acceptance. While not as obvious as the glittery emo vampires of Twilight, I still dispute the historical accuracy. But Lady Bug looked really cute in her outfit so she became Vampirina. Prima decided to be a unicorn so we phoned it in with a three piece kit and an all-white sweat suit. Put on some gloves for hooves and BAM… unicorned. Donna Threeto insisted on becoming a fox because her native American spirit guide is a fox. She displays many fox mannerisms and loves wearing a tail. Luckily, a fox is a generic enough outfit that the costume store also had a bag of fox-parts that we could combine with a sweat suit.
Three down. One to go.
Jane was a little more difficult. She wouldn’t decide on what to be and two days before the event decided that she wanted to go as a goat. She wants to be a veterinarian. She loves farm animals and goats especially. I can understand this outfit from start to finish but the problem is that being a goat is a really unique idea. There aren’t standard costumes. Probably because anyone described synonymously with a goat is either an old-goat or a horny-goat or both. Regardless, I value my children’s dreams and aspirations. A goat you shall be!
We went to the store a day before Halloween and found the scattered remains of various costumes. Walmart had grossly miscalculated the number of children who wanted to be ninja turtles. Anything resembling a goat was gone. I begged and reasoned with Jane to just choose something generic. The whole point is to get candy. It is like a bank robbery. The teller at the window doesn’t care if your plastic mask is President Nixon or President Reagan, they just want you to stop pointing your gun at them so they give you the money and you leave. The whole point is that you are hiding your identity and threatening the homeowner with mischief if they don’t pay you off with candy. Who cares.
She deflected my words with indifference. We walked Walmart twice while she pondered different combinations of things that might make her appear goat-like. She salvaged some red devil horns and a plain white shirt. She told herself that her outfit was Aires, the ram. I give her credit for knowing that Aires is a ram and for knowing some astrology. We bought the few items and returned home.
On Halloween night everyone was dressed and ready to go and Jane was deliberating over her costume. Something was off. Something needed to be added. The outfit looked like a backup dancer in a ballet put on a set of red horns. It didn’t scream “Aires the ram is here for your candy!” so she decided to face-paint the symbol for Aires on her forehead. So we did.
The real tragedy of Jane’s outfit is that no one is familiar enough with astrological signs or subtlety to glean the fact she was a goat. Instead, their minds probably drifted towards member-of-a-satanic-cult. Not exactly what she was going for and that fault rests squarely on my shoulders. I should have provided for a better goat. We can’t be too disappointed because we did get lots of candy and that is what really matters.
This Halloween was the first one where all of the kids could run together from house to house without an adult walking along beside them and picking up shoes or dropped buckets. It was another quiet milestone that passed on the wind. They all waited for each other to gather on the doorsteps before ringing the doorbell, they watched out for one another, and they always said thank you to the people who handed out candy. I’m pretty proud of them and the people they are becoming.
I am also proud of my wife. One day while at work I got this text.
Then a few days later I came home to this gem.
I have a real appreciation for the unusual things and I think I have rubbed off on her. This Kleenex butthole cat is everything I thought it could be. His posture. His look of fearful concern, like you have cornered him and are stealing the tissue against his will. He is a perfect new member of the family.
Looking at a small sticker on the bottom that boasts “Made In China”, I couldn’t help but wonder. What does the factory worker who casts these things all day think of Americans and the kinky shit we buy?
What does that production meeting sound like? “Okay folks, we got another order for 10,000 plaster cats with the tissue-port assholes. I need everyone to stay late tonight to make sure this order gets out the door. Frank… make sure you paint the eyes on straight this time. I bought 500 cross-eyed tabbies back from North Dakota last week. We don’t have the budget for your bullshit. Eric… don’t send any out with broken tails. I know you have been boxing them up like that. People notice and it has your sticker on the bottom.” (For the record, I don’t think that Frank and Eric are traditional Chinese names but anything else would have sounded offensive.)
Also, a quick safety warning about Ring-Pops. If they melt inside the package and re-harden in the corner then it becomes a Ring-Stab.
If you enjoy our normal weirdness then this post is for you. You’re welcome.
-Underdaddy to the rescue.