In the spirit of the season, and because she is so excited about her costume this year, we seem to be attending one event after another. It’s like Halloween used to be the big wedding where everyone wore their finest – every thread was in order and of the finest material, the hair was styled perfectly and the makeup was applied with great care. Now it seems like we’ve got a whole week of celebration – the final fittings of the costume, the portrait session, a break for the bachelor party – an adults only night out amongst the early Halloween crowd in their near-scandalous barely-there wear. Then there’s the rehearsal dinner at the casual local joint down the street, the event day luncheon at the pumpkin patch the morning of with the whole party (or schoolmates) all in a row on the hay wagon. And then finally, the event itself where hopefully the costume is still intact, and the guests all answer their doorbells and drop goodies off the registry into the plastic upturned pumpkin. Approving nods for the name brand chocolates, bonus points for ones with nuts and caramel, sighs of resignation for the cheap sweets that come in the big multi-packs, or the individually wrapped fake hot dogs made out of some strange gummy material that no one can digest. Thankfully there are no thank-yous to write, but alas, there’s no honeymoon either. Unless you count the days of extra chocolate a sort of escape from reality. I do.
This afternoon was library day, so a quick trip was made to drop off the old books and pick up the new. The bag was emptied tonight and the majority of books were Halloween in nature. One was deemed too scary for nighttime, another sported a scary page amongst the tame ones. I told her if any were too scary that she could get out of bed and put them in the library book bin until morning. As I type this, it is quiet up there, and then there’s the thump. The loud steps across the room, the sound of a plastic wrapped book being shoved into a metal bin. Long minutes pass, and then the thump again. I’m not sure she’ll have any left by morning. Fear grows in the night hours, and Halloween lets us dance around those fears a bit, and then come back into the warm bright house and sort the loot for awhile.
We’re midway through this conviviality, and we aren’t wearied (yet), but this constant carousing requires maintenance. So we pull out the hot glue gun, we touch up the red paint, we dust off the black tights with the lint brush. And we do it all again the next day.
She is so proud of her costume this year. It’s not the kind of costume that hides her enough, or transforms her enough beyond the shy, quiet kid in the crowd. She doesn’t become something else when she puts it on; it doesn’t help her become the fearless superhero or the dainty princess of her dreams. I can just tell in the way she listens to the comments (and there are lots), the way she holds her chin up high, the way her dimples start to peek out from behind the face that is trying not to smile too much under the strain of the attention. Kids love Lego’s, they all recognize it instantly, and they want to figure out how she made it. She doesn’t want to be on a stage somewhere taking first prize for her costume (she’d never stand up and accept it anyway). She just seems to like the way people do a double take and think it’s a clever idea. I can just tell that when I look at her. Plus, it just really cracks me up.
So we continue to work on this shyness around strangers, and maybe that’s why Halloween is so fun for us. It’s not a lot of high pressure, but a good opportunity for E to practice getting those words out to someone she’s never met before. And the reward is instantaneous as its plunked into the outstretched bucket. Heady from her costume success at the party tonight, and perhaps a bit dizzy and wired from ten or twelve trips down the three story curving slide, she bounced out into the parking lot talking a mile a minute. We reminded her that she needed to speak up on Wednesday night, to be brave in the face of friendly strangers, and to thank those that gave her candy for her efforts. To our knowledge she has never actually mustered a “Trick-or-treat” out in an audible range since she first went door to door as a little duck. I stopped her on the concrete stairs and said “Hey – let’s practice. I’m here, you come ring the door bell and when I answer it you say loudly and bravely Trick or Treat”.
She dug this, totally getting into her new role. March, march, march. “Ding Dong.”
I opened the pretend door, commented on her lovely costume and waited expectantly.
“Trick,” she said boldly with her pretend bag thrust out in front of her.
I paused, wondering if the rest of the phrase got caught in her throat. She looked at me like maybe she hadn’t gotten it quite right.
“Treat,” she tried again, just as loud.
Then we got it. When we told her over and over again to say Trick-or-Treat she took it quite literally. She chose one…or perhaps the other. When we explained that it was a phrase unto itself she nodded in approval. She didn’t have to choose. It’s only taken four years, but I have a good feeling about this year…I think she’s going to do it.
I paused, wondering if the rest of the phrase got caught in her throat. She looked at me like maybe she hadn’t gotten it quite right.
“Treat,” she tried again, just as loud.
Then we got it. When we told her over and over again to say Trick-or-Treat she took it quite literally. She chose one…or perhaps the other. When we explained that it was a phrase unto itself she nodded in approval. She didn’t have to choose. It’s only taken four years, but I have a good feeling about this year…I think she’s going to do it.
new car and treats for school
cousins
uncle j’s thirtieth bday night out