Costume Conversations

This year, I have fallen behind in my Halloween preparations of costumes and candy, which is uncharacteristic for me, a Hard Core hallows eve gal. Just as I was starting to organize the wigs and wax lips, my five year old fell off the monkey bars and broke her arm. The need for a costume was the last thing on my mind although a wig might have come in handy as my hair quickly turned a bright shade of gray in the halls of the Emergency Room.

After several days of soft cast malaise, I realized that my little girl was in need of a boost, so we headed out to Costume Castle.  Little did I realize we were not just shopping, we were on a cultural and historical expedition.  Daniel Boone, Cleopatra and Shirley Temple awaited us at the front door.  

 “Mommy, why does Cleopatra wear gold? And Dorothy red shoes?” And so the questions began.

“Why does that man wear a tail on his head? When were the Pilgrims born?” I tried to answer each question with intelligence but it wasn’t easy. Finally we moved over to a section I could handle, or at least I thought so.

“Mommy, I want you to be Cinderella,” my five year old stated, “Just like me.”

“No, I’m going to be Cinderella’s mommy.”

She laughed. “Oh Mommy, Cinderella doesn’t have a mommy.”

“She doesn’t?”

“Oh no, she’s born in Disneyland, that’s where all Princesses are born…without mommies.”

“But Princess Diana wasn’t born in Disneyland,” my six year old added.

“That’s true,” my youngest said, “but she’s not really a princess.”

“Of course she was.  A princess just like you,” I said, “And you came out of my tummy.” My daughters looked at me with an inquisitive look.  I realized we were about one thought away from the birds and the bee’s talk, something I didn’t want to have in the middle of the Princess aisle at Costume Castle.

“Now look at Shirley Temple,” I gestured to my oldest.  “She is perfect for you.”   

“Why is her dress so poofy?”  I don’t know if I like poofy.” my oldest observed.

“So it swirls when she dances. She always wore poofy,” was about the best I could do as my costume shopping patience began to dwindle. I realized we needed some focus to our mission.

“Let’s find a costume that fits over your cast,” I suggested.  Fortunately, there was a large armed Cinderella gown that slipped right over the soon-to-be-plastered arm. My youngest would be a spending Halloween as a motherless Princess.

My six year old debated between Shirley Temple and Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. The length of the dress seemed to be the determining factor—she wanted short. For some reason, she has recently gone from wanting her clothes to be too big to too small, a disconcerting idea to my husband and me. The Shirley Temple dresses were inappropriately short, so I allowed her to buy the XL dress that hit right above her knees.

As for myself, I am resorting to Super Girl, my costume for the past two years. I have promised my kids that next year I will change, but I need to wear her one more time.  They just don’t understand how much fun it is to unload the dishwasher, mop the floor and grocery shop in a red cape and boots.  The fantasy of super powers makes the reality of motherhood a bit more fun.  Especially when monkey bars are involved.