Happy Whatever You Call the Annual Costumes and Candy Holiday!

‘The Marion Mom’ By Dorothy Wilson

As summer collapses into fall in a great, big heap this year, bringing with it visions of apple cider, pumpkin muffins, deer chili, and hayrides, I’m reminded of the impending return of this little holiday called Halloween.

As a child, I actually rarely celebrated Halloween.

The idea of glorifying gore and horror in return for sugary goodness rang odd in our family. I do, however, remember attending many a “Harvest Party” in costume at church.

“Harvest Party,” “Fall Festival,” “Trunk-Or-Treat” — It’s all Halloween by another name — all involving costumes and candy. If I ever invent a holiday, it will also involve costumes and candy.

Even as an adult, I adore costuming. I wish we grown-ups had more opportunity to wear costumes in a socially acceptable public setting, especially if people are doling out candy… as long as it’s chocolate, and not the kinds that taste like a science experiment gone wrong.

But as an adult, the industry of holidays has sure taken a toll on both my time and my bank account.

Outfitting six children for one night of fun dress-up, buying bowls full of candy to pass out to the neighbors, and decorating the house and yard can occupy days worth of energy that frankly, this aging body just can no longer produce.

So when my kids snatched a costume catalog out of the mailbox, I indulged their fantasies of ordering an admittedly amazing costume for the low-low price of $80. Seriously?

Who buys a kid an $80 one-time-use costume?

Baby Girl just has to be Queen Elsa this year. I’m certain there will be a herd of three-year-old Queen Elsas scampering down the streets in a cute-but-annoying type of “Let it Go” flash mob come October 31.

Baby Girl has a hold of my heart. I’m ashamed to admit I considered, for one second, indulging the sweetheart in the deluxe version of the adorable outfit. Then the voice of reason broke through the chorus of “Let it Go” with a resounding “Run away!”

So, I scoured the Internet for an acceptable Queen Elsa, and still came up lacking. Imagine my delight when, on a grocery run to Walmart, I (ahem) happened upon the costume aisle. There, beckoning me, luring me, Queen Elsa stood in all her glory, in the right size and at the right price. I almost heard the Hallelujah Chorus.

For the first time in my 10 years as a mother, I snatched up a Halloween costume eight full weeks before the holiday, in fear that the horde of Queen Elsa moms would buy out the costume before I had a chance to act.

I whisked out the sparkling, frosty-green attire for Baby Girl, and true delight filled her eyes. She hugged the fabric tightly and immediately demanded to try it on.

Of course, I obliged.

After several rounds of “Let it Go” and hours of Queen Elsa dancing, we changed into pajamas.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled to be on top of the game for once in my life-not running behind–ready for Halloween six weeks in advance. But in that moment, I realized that I had to not only keep up with that dadgum costume for six weeks, but I also had to keep it clean and free from destruction.

Motherhood is so hard.

I lay my head to rest that night with a silly sort of smile dancing across my face, visions of the most adorable Queen Elsa devouring gobs of Gobstoppers and mounds of Mounds (and sharing her Reese’s Cups with her loving mother. You do distribute Reese’s Cups on Halloween, right?) Not too long after I drifted off to sleep, Queen Elsa’s finger poked me in the eye.

“Mama!”

I lazily opened one crusty eyelid. “Yes, Baby, did you have a bad dream?”

“No, Mama.”

“Well then, what do you need?”

“I wanted to tell you that I meant I wanted a pink Queen Elsa costume.”

Oh, well, is that all? I internally grumbled. In case you missed it, there’s no such thing as a pink Queen Elsa. I know, because I spent hours researching the best Queen Elsa. A pink Queen Elsa simply does not exist.

“Oh, Baby Girl,” I groaned in fatigue. “Let’s talk about it in the morning.”

It still hasn’t come up again. I’m hoping she forgets the notion by Halloween… or decides that her favorite color is, in fact, Ice Castle Green.

As for my older children, I decided to firmly suggest they purchase their own costumes this year. We frugally scoured racks of gently-used onesies printed after the fashion of one superhero or another.

(Let me just add here that if Captain America had to wear a spandex jumper with an elastic waist and velcro back opening, I bet he’d have demanded more money to do a second film.) One kid actually bought a frock he couldn’t identify.

But it has a mask and a matching shield in patriotic colors, so I’m sure he’ll get plenty of compliments.

And lots of candy. That’s really all that matters to a six-year-old, right?

My eldest son bought a ninja costume from Walmart. You should have heard the giddy chatter in the van on the way home!

All of a sudden, he blurts, “Oh, I forgot! Ninjas are supposed to be silent!”

Oh, this is a nice little piece of Mommy ammunition.

You’ll just have to forgive us if you see our family going about our business in the community wearing shoddy black-spandex onesie garb with elastic waists crawling up our torsos and random plastic ninja weaponry attached to our belts.

A mom’s gotta do what a mom’s gotta do.

Sometimes, that means publicly pretending we are all ninjas for a moment of relief from the unending cacophony of kid-citement. Sometimes, that means replacing the long-sought Disney version of Queen Elsa with a pink princess.

But, in my house, it always means stealing Reese’s Cups from the kids’ Halloween stash.

Dorothy Wilson lives in Marion with her husband Chris as they enjoy all the adventures life with their seven children brings. Her columns appear monthly in the Marion Ledger, with reprints, such as this one from the September 2014 edition of the Ledger, appear occasionally in the online edition of the Evening Times.