Halloween Costumes

My daughter decided three things about her Halloween costume this year. First, she wanted to be a black cat. Second, she wanted me to be a black cat too. Third, she wanted us to make the costumes.

I was delighted, and not just because she wanted us to match. Face it, I'm a sucker for my daughter wanting to match me. Plus, I know the window for that happening is pretty narrow.

No, I was delighted because I believe, sincerely believe, that Halloween costumes are meant to be home-made and not store-bought - in part because I value creativity, and in part because I value being cheap.  So, for the first three years of her life I made her Halloween costumes. In retrospect, that may just have been overcompensation for being a full-time working mom. Whatever.

Then, when she was four, she decided to be a princess, no wait a ballerina, no wait a fairy, no wait all of them, and I didn't have a clue how to make that costume. When my sister-in-law sent a picture from a catalog that met all those requirements, I considered it a miracle, and bought it, along with some pale pink tights, and some sparkly fairy shoes, and the pink turtleneck and pink sweatshirt to wear under so she wouldn't die from exposure during Trick or Treat. What I spent on that year's costume was obscene. In retrospect, it may just have been overcompensation for being a full-time working mom. So sue me.

Sometimes I think sternly that she doesn't need a new costume every year, that as long as it fits, she should wear the same costume from year to year. When I was growing up, that's what we did. But that thought is usually swamped by the awful memories of that awful costume that we had to wear from year to year, an awful, baggy, pink nylon costume that said "Princess" across the chest in sparkly blue lettering, which we wore over our jeans and our winter jackets. It came with a cheap plastic mask of what appeared to be a grimacing woman wearing a tiara. We used to long for a different costume. Anything our friends wore was better. So if my daughter wants to pick out a different costume every year, I find I'm willing to take out my credit card and make that happen. No doubt it's just overcompensation, yadda yadda.

Then this year, out of the blue, she decided it would be fun to make our costumes, and I was delighted. But the funny thing is that it turns out to be at least as expensive to make a costume as to buy it, because it turns out we aren't actually black cats, and we don't have black cat stuff around the house. She had head bands and pipe cleaners, and I had black pants and shirts and shoes. We had to buy a black turtleneck and black sweatshirt for her. They don't even sell them for girls, so we had to buy them in the boys department, which caused a certain amount of drama, which was appeased in part by buying her black boots. And we needed black mittens. And black fleece for the tails and ears. And pink fleece for the insides of the ears. And stuffing for the tails. And face paint.

So we spent a small fortune, and we hot-glued ourselves some tails and ears, and we donned our black clothes, and we painted each other's faces. She was inordinately proud of our fairly crude results. People seemed to able to tell what we were supposed to be. She was happy. I was happy. I know the window for the two of us being happy about the same thing is fairly narrow, and I'm enjoying it while I can. And for a whole glorious day, I can feel like a good mom.