Halloween in Review: Part One

I had mentioned awhile back that Halloween brought back certain memories for me as a child - both good and bad. While I relish the fall season and all the fun memories of trick or treating (back in the 80s, before all the razor blade apples and "Fall Festivals"), I need to share a little bit of the trauma that Halloween once was to me.

I need to first say, again, that Sweet Kay was and continues to be the very best mother in the world. She excels at SO many things; listening and being a source of peace and comfort being the best of her talents. At some point in her life, my mother had a seemingly endless well of creativity in her - she painted, sewed her own clothes...she was a Renaissance woman of sorts.

And then she had children.

I can now speak with a sense of authority on the notion that having a baby depletes your creativity supply. Perhaps it has something to do with the hormone levels in your body, or possibly the constant sleep deprivation...Anyway, it is with sorrow that I must now point you to Exhibit A:


No, your eyes do not mislead you: that is, in fact, a garbage bag with the words "The Thing" painted on it. Indeed I AM wearing my father's motorcycle helmet under that bag and I DO have my face painted in some sort of be-goggled mess. I think my 7 month old brother lying on the floor next to me, his young face contorted in a Mr. Blackwell-esque look, belies the truth that my mom was surely worn out that year. She had a not-quite 3 year old and a baby to contend with and we all know my father probably offered up the helmet as his only means of support. (The photo that I wish I did have has me sitting next to my best friend who is dressed as a girly, beautiful Raggedy Ann doll. It is a Yin and Yang of costumes, for sure.)Fast forward 2 years. We have moved to a new home in Georgia where all our Halloween photos would be taken next to a lovely backdrop of damask (?), patterned curtains. This young girl (?) appears as if on center stage. I remember wishing, hoping against hope, to be a princess for Halloween. Wish Granted! I believe my mom drove us to Sky City, my small hometown's version of K-Mart, and probably hurried me down the aisle of picked over costumes where I found this plastic apron/cape combo of what seems to be Cinderella. It's not even a dress. It's more of a montage of a princess, all hearts and swirlies and a cameo of the lady in question.

What's even sadder is that it was cold that night. Enter blue sweatshirt, sorrily rolled-up jeans and BROWN SHOES. I do remember that my mother had a Come To Jesus meeting with me over the shoes. It involved tears (probably on both our parts), pleadings, and much pouting. Looking back, it is the brown shoes that are really the nail in the coffin on this outfit. Mom? Seriously? Were you mad at me?

In all truth, I totally get how this happens. It's called time, folks, and how mothers have very little of it. My daughter is 3 months old and already I feel myself playing the comparison game with other mothers who have not only found outfits of homemade splendor for their child but have had the little one take professional photos in said outfit and have used that photo for their blog's monthly masthead. I went to Target last week and bought a onesie that says "Boo."

Oh Davy. I can't make you any promises. You come from a long history of mislaid plans, procrastination, and tired mommies. But I will let you eat as much candy as you want that night. And I will keep your father from picking out his favorite pieces first. After all, that's what a truly good mom does on Halloween.

More to come!