Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. I love the creepy and macabre and, mostly, the candy. I always had so much fun dressing my small children in adorable costumes and then my older kids in stuff with fake blood. But we’re coming to the end of the days where it’s acceptable for my kids to trick or treat. And we’re coming to the beginning of days that we, as parents, can dress up and embarrass our children in a way that is not possible with everyday wear.
I’ll be honest, I only dress up because my daughter asks me to do so. I am not “that mom,” you know, the good kind. I don’t really decorate our house. I don’t make fun, creative and/or thoughtful treats to slip into their lunch bags. I don’t ever make costumes and sometimes, we don’t even buy them until the day before (FYI, at that point, they are often 50-percent off. Of course, the only choice may be slutty German beer maid, but on a 6-year-old – with a full set of long johns underneath – it’ll be floor length and you can call it a princess.)
So I don’t usually choose a costume that will make my kids cringe. Actually, for most of their lives, I only had two costumes. I either put on a black dress and pointy hat and called myself a witch (a term that many find fitting) or I grabbed my husband’s foul-weather orange Grunden’s overalls and a black winter hat and became a fisherwoman. Either way, the decision is made 62 seconds after we want to leave the house for our friend’s annual Halloween soirée. There’s not a lot of thought or energy put into it. I’m just trying to get to the wine.
My husband, on the other hand, loves to embarrass all of us. There has never been a costume too over-the-top. Whether it’s outlandish, cringe-worthy or just plain asinine, he excels at horrifying our whole family.
There was the Magnum P.I. year, with the short-shorts and fake moustache (the man can grow a full moustache in 11 hours so I’m not sure why we had to go with the fake one), the year that he dubbed himself Brussel Sprout Man and spent an inordinate amount of time stringing brussel sprouts to a cowboy hat, and the year he went as me. He wore one of my tank tops and one of my skirts, both of which fit perfectly. I have yet to wear either item again. There’s something about seeing your spouse rocking your favorite summer outfit that sears into your brain, like watching a plane crash, except the plane is your self-esteem.
This year, he decided on a costume that pushed the boundaries of obscene and bordered on illegal. To put it into perspective, the costume’s origin was as a mermaid suit for our daughter – our eleven year old daughter. It was silver. Iridescent silver with fish scales. Oh, and it was a unitard. I’m just going to leave that there. You can let your vivid imagination create the fantastic visual.
I am the first one to say that my husband is a good-looking man (actually, I’m the second – he’s the first one to say he’s a good-looking man). He wears every pair of jeans like they were made just for him. On the rare occasion that he is called to don a suit, he rocks the hell out of it. The man can even slide into a tux with the ease of James Bond. But unless he’s trying to become the long-lost merman that the Village People didn’t know they were missing, he cannot make the silver unitard come together. The only word that comes to mind is “disturbing.”
I was able to laugh, perhaps a little hysterically, when he wandered into the kitchen one night, blinding us – in many ways – with his head-to-toe getup. Some may have clawed at their eyes. Some may have turned to stone. But no one was spared the second skin that had melded to his body. It was bright. It was tight. It wasn’t right. And our tween was ready for a fight.
“I found my Halloween costume!”
“No. No. NO-NO-NO-NO-NO-NO! You are NOT wearing that trick-or-treating. You are NOT leaving the house in that!”
“Why not?”
“DADDY!”
In tween language, “Daddy” is a multi-faceted term. It can be an exclamation of joy (but not usually), a term of endearment, reminiscent of the toddler years — even less likely (actually, scratch that one. It’s not happening again until her wedding day) — or a screech of horror (almost always) that let’s all of us (including the neighbors) know, in no uncertain terms, that he has made a big, huge, f’ing mistake, the kind of mistake that will cause her untold embarrassment and will never be forgiven. Never. Ever.
For weeks after the “incident,” he teased and threatened. He needled and nudged. He talked about his costume to anyone who didn’t ask. He surprised friends and family with photo evidence, promising all that they could see it live and in person on Halloween. He received comments and fielded questions. One such comment section, under the photo, went as follows:
“OMG you are awesome”
“Fancy!”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph” (that was me)
“Can’t unsee”
“Work it!”
“As a species-curious erotic dancing mermaid? I think I have a hat for you”
When the fateful night arrived, he was as excited as a kid in a candy store. Or, an oddly confident grown man about to dress in fish-drag.
The steely silence from our child was chilling. Never underestimate the wee ones; they be little but they be fierce. She would not budge. She was taking a stand for generations of young girls who had been mortified by their parents. She was saying, “NO MORE. It stops here.”
It was almost a let-down, leaving the house with a just a normal man (OK, not normal, but appropriately dressed). After weeks of living on the edge, wondering if he would really do it, the answer was no. Instead, he had made a mature decision. He had listened to his daughter, really listened to her, heard her concerns, respected her for the young woman she is becoming. Plus, she had hidden the costume. And my husband can’t find a jelly bean in the Easter bunny’s basket. So that was that.
All in all, though many asked after the promised-attire, everyone understood that the tween must be respected. Because they’ve all met her.
The goal of the annual Halloween party is to load the kids up on protein so the sugar crash isn’t quite so severe. I like to make deviled eggs, mostly because almost no one else likes them and I often get to eat them all. My amazing mom even found me a deviled egg plate at a thrift store. Is that love, or what? They’re super-easy to make, but a bit time-consuming. Try this super cute recipe to bring to your Halloween party. People will think you care!
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Laurie Nigro, is the mother of two biological children and one husband. She also takes care of a menagerie of animals that leave throw-up around for her to step in in the middle of the night. Laurie’s passionate about frugal, natural living, which is a nice way of saying she’s a kombucha-brewing, incense-burning, foodie freak who tries really hard not to spend money on crap made by child laborers. You can hear her rant about her muse (aka husband) and other things that have no bearing on your life, in this space each Sunday.
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