Thursday, October 28, 2010

Halloween, supersized

Halloween used to be a day, one day out of the year. Now, it’s a season. Like Christmas, it’s become super sized, and the celebration begins right after school starts.

I’m not complaining (for once). Actually, this is A-OK with me, because I am basically a Halloween junkie. You’re talking to someone who – up until my storage area was invaded by a family of mice -- boasted an extensive wig collection, no less than four different kinds of boas and enough make-up to keep all of Brooklyn glammed up for the month of October. And no, I’m not a drag queen. I like dress-up.

As a kid, I was the Queen of Halloween, since Nonnie was a professional seamstress and a semi-professional martyr who liked to do pro-bono sewing work in the form of devising frilly, poofy, lacey princess-y gowns for me to sport. One year, I was Scarlet O-Hara and my dad built a hoop skirt out of wire hangers. That was one time where my mother was the opposite of Joan Crawford: “More wire hangers!!! We need MORE WIRE HANGERS!!!”

My children have, of course, followed suit. Except that they, sophisticated souls that they are, have a preference for the dark and macabre elements of the holiday, and like to get spooky. Non-spooky attire is not allowed on Halloween. Evil reigns. That’s just how we roll.

Primo will be – wait for it – a Plants vs Zombies Zombie. This was a last-minute switch-up due to the fact that he is currently in the throes of a raging obsession with the game and also the fact that his first costume idea, to be the Headless Horseman, with no head, turned out to be impractical since not only could he not see anything or play with his friends, his mouth would be covered and he could not eat candy. This is, of course, a dealbreaker. So zombie it is.

When people ask Sec what she’s going to be, she says. “A stepmother/”

This doesn’t make immediate sense to many people, so I’ve been clarifying: “She means an evil stepmother.”

But when I told that to a mom this morning at drop-off, I realized that maybe it sounded like I had something against stepmothers, so I hastened to add, “I mean, THE evil stepmother, from Snow White.” That would have been sufficient clarification but instead I went on, “Not like, any stepmother. Some are very nice.”

That, too, would have been more than enough clarification and potentially even a little funny. But then I felt compelled to add more, in the event that the mom I was talking to was, in fact, somebody’s stepmother: “I don’t have a problem with stepmothers. Divorce happens. I mean, it’s not my problem, it’s the Brothers Grimm’s.”

Then I shut up.

So, yeah, Sec’s gonna be the evil Stepmother, in a costume her great grandmother -- masterful seamstress - fashioned just for her, replete with magic mirror and poison apple. The apple’s not really poison. I wouldn’t let my kid play with a poison apple. OK, now I’m going to stop clarifying and find some medication for my logorrhea.