Spooky


Nothing like a commercialized American holiday to make you realize what a truly dorky, old-fashioned, stifling parent you have become.

Tiny E was just two years, three days old when the evil holiday came around this year… so of course, I didn't plan on doing the whole trick-or-treat thing, let alone indulging in a costume. This is in keeping with my theory: avoid it as long as you can.

That morning, she had her two-year check up with the pediatrician, so I threw a couple of hats on us and proclaimed "Cowboys! Native American Indians! Something like that!" So far, so good.

We got to the ped's office, which actually appeared to be a convention of licensed characters… forgive me my ignorance, but there was something like Stretchy Girl (from the Incredibles movie), Thomas the Train (I TOTALLY know that one and we don't even have it at home) and um, well… a lot of other things that looked like licensed characters but I have no idea who they were. There was even a naughty nurse!!! (no, there wasn't. just checking to see if you're still with me here)

Apparently Dave and I are raising our children in a terrible void… each time we were approached by a different character (masquerading as a child's health care professional), we heard something like, "Oh! Does she like (insert licensed character's name here)?"

For cripe's sake, people, for the last time NO! And Mommy doesn't know what they hell you're talking about either, but please, please get away from us. The corporate empires are doing everything they can to win my kid's brand loyalty, and she can't even say REGISTERED TRADEMARK yet. Can someone just send in a nice little bunny to give my girl her flu shot??

Fast forward, eight hours.

A kind neighbor dropped by our house with two cuddly costumes – a ladybug and a bee. And I was powerless.

I dressed up my eldest kiddo and we paraded around the neighborhood, just like all the other parents and their little kiddlets. And you know what? We had a blast. I was gently reminded that this is the fun part about having kids: remembering how fun it was to do this stuff yourself, and then seeing it all again through their experience.

Next year: she'll probably figure out that the stuff they're putting in her pumpkin is candy… and it was meant for her, not mommy. Oh well.