I am nuts. Totally certifiable. I know this because every year around this time every adult person I know- my husband, my mother, my friends- tells me so.
You see, I’m making my children’s Halloween costumes.
I know. I know! I know that we can buy entire ensembles complete with magic wands, flashing light sabers and realistically blood-drenched machetes at Wal-Mart for less than the price of a pack of gum. I know that it would be better for my child’s imagination to make a costume herself out of empty Cheerios boxes and tin foil.
It doesn’t matter. I’ve begun to realize this is something beyond comprehension that I am simply going to have to accept. And thus every fall, like swallows returning to Capistrano, I find myself wandering the aisles of Jo-Ann Fabrics, trying to figure out where the ¼ inch elastic might be.
Oh, and I should mention that I don’t sew. Did I mention that? Or rather, I didn’t sew, way, way back in the Mesozoic Pre-Children Era, and for most intents and purposes I still don’t. I am completely self-taught on a steady, if infrequent diet of girl’s Halloween costumes, which is to say that, over the years, I’ve managed to make a velveteen ladybug antennae cap, a black felt nun’s habit, a Madeline cape and a satin off-the-shoulder princess gown, but I am completely incapable of hemming my daughter’s pants. Continue reading What Halloween Means to Me