Surviving Halloween

It's no secret.  I build up holidays in my mind.  I envision how perfect things will be.  I dream about blissful celebrations.  Tantrum and meltdown-free celebrations.  Full of laughter and smiles, void of drama and crying fits.  Yes, I dream.  And then...reality.   And as I reflect on Halloween 2011, I must admit that I had plenty of red flags waved in my face prior to the thirty-first.  Red flags that screamed, "This ain't looking good!"..."Give it up! Give it up now!"...."This is gonna be ugly."


Note to self:  Quit ignoring the red flags!


It was hard to contain my excitement the night we discussed what the boys would be for Halloween.  Jack immediately said he wanted to be a bull.  And when Sam said he wanted to be a farmer,  my theme-loving heart skipped a beat.  Oh my gosh!  How perfect!   Jack will be a bull.  Sam's a farmer and Will can't talk so, of course, I'll just choose for him.  And since we do live on a farm and we do have cows and chickens, he just has to be a chicken.  Perfect.  Our little farm family.  This is just too perfect.  The hunt for the perfect costume quickly ensued.


After finding and ordering the perfect chicken costume from Chasing Fireflies, I learned a week later that it was suddenly out of stock.  Dozens of internet searches and two more cancelled orders later, Will's costume arrived.  It was, indeed, adorable and so soft and comfortable.  I just knew my boy, you know the one who is happiest at the barn picking up and petting every chicken in sight, would appreciate all my hard work and love his costume. Well...

Someone has an attitude problem.

Jack was thrilled when his bull costume arrived.  It was the one he had picked out, black and white with horns.  He couldn't get it on fast enough.  

Red flag approaching...

I put his hat on, adjusted his hooves and stood back to admire his cuteness.  And in that very moment, my son bent over, stuck his head between his legs and looked at his behind.  And I knew what was coming.  "Maaaaa-Maaaaa! This is NOT a bull costume!  It ain't got no balls, Mama!  Look!"  And he bends his ball-less behind over in my face, pointing out the missing parts and fussing at me for "gettin' the wrong one."

Which led to...

Conversation # 142 that you never think you'll have with your mother after you become an adult, get married and have children:  The one where you oblige your four year old by calling her at bedtime and asking her:

a.  Does she know how to make balls to match a black and white cow costume?

b.  Will she know how to sew the balls she makes in the right spot?

c.  And just how soon can she get these alterations done?

Thankfully, after days of discussing the missing parts of his costume, I finally convinced him that the additional "things" would make it really hard to sit down (the boy had a size in mind too for his additions...extra large).  He was content to wear his costume, unaltered.  And in doing so, he really embraced that the idea that he was a cow and not a bull, breaking out his best I have no male parts down here, therefore I will not be masculine routine.

  Hands clasped femininely under his sweet, little chin?  Nailing it, "Mr. Bull With Missing Parts", nailing it.

Sam did his part to hamper my perfect farm themed Halloween fairy tale, too.  Friday was Sam's Halloween celebration at school, complete with a costume parade around the entire school.  My little farmer informed me Thursday night that he was dressing as a policeman for school.  My plea for him to dress as a farmer, complete with an informative tidbit about just how much I had spent on his Carhartt overalls, fell on deaf ears and he marched in the parade as a policeman.  

The I'm so embarrassed wave.

I totally blame Cannon's choice to be a secret spy for making Sam abandon farm life for crime fighting.  

I was responsible for providing snacks for Sam's class party that afternoon.  And me, in all my Martha Stewart wannabe glory, thought I'd create a few ridiculously cute spooky snacks.  With high hopes, I loaded my grocery cart with an assortment of chocolates, baking goods and other essentials necessary to whip up five special treats.  The first, white chocolate ghosts, bit the dust when I scorched the chocolate not once, but twice, in the microwave and on the stove top.  I moved on to my next task, creating witches' hats out of fudge stripe cookies, Hershey's kisses and orange icing.  After making two dozen, I began to question the appearance of my little "hats."  Fearing embarrassment and hoping not to scar my child for life at his very first class party, I texted a picture to Allyson, asking if she thought my "hats" looked right.  While I waited for her to respond, I woke Jody, stuck the plate of "hats" in his face, and asked him if they looked okay.  I won't repeat his response but it, paired with Allyson's laughter, meant my second creation had now bit the dust.

Okay, I get it.  I know what they look like.

In defense of myself, they do look like hats from the side.  Unfortunately, I couldn't ask the kids and adults to eat them with their head at a ninety degree angle, so into the trash they went.

I do feel that I redeemed myself with my spider cookies and mummy juice boxes.

Even after all the costume debacle and snack mishaps leading up to the big day, I still had high hopes that Halloween night would be full of fun and excitement as we shuffled the boys in and out of houses where everyone oohed and aahed over their cuteness.  Halloween night would be everything I'd hoped it would be.

Except...

It rained.  Buckets.

Everyone was tired.

And moody.

Very, very moody.

Not one of my children were willing to put on their costume.  It got ugly and ended with me giving a dramatic speech about "how little children all over the world look forward all year to getting dressed up and going trick or treating on Halloween."   I may have added something about "ingrates" and "never buying costumes again" and  may have even thrown in a whiny "This is the last time I'll ever do this again! And I mean it!" for emphasis.

So our trick or treating consisted of appearing at Nana and JP's with our costumes damp and only partially on. We finished dressing our farm trio and lined them up with their cousins for a group shot.

Every good grandmother has a stray body part on the fireplace for Halloween.

And, then, in a whirlwind of pulling off bandannas and ditching cow horns and little chicken feet,  it was over.  And I must say, I was glad.  I am now a little worried that some part of me must secretly enjoy  the punishment, because my mind is currently full of festive Thanksgiving ideas that I know my children will just love to participate in.  Chocolate pilgrim hats and pine cone turkeys, anyone?  Anyone?  Let the giving thanks begin.