Some little boys have mamas who sew. Those would be the little boys whose mothers are up until all hours (long after Cinderella’s slipper has been dropped and the mice are done galloping and masquerading as horses) on Halloween Eve, making costumes from bits of this, that they have at home, and bits of that, which they bought at Michael’s.
I, myself, do not sew.
I, myself, have been in Michael’s exactly one time in the entirity of my life, and that was because my friend, Cody, hauled me in and said, “We absolutely must secure an ocean print, to go with the ocean theme, in my mother’s guest bedroom. She is counting on us to find just. the. right. print.”
Well, then. An ocean print it was, although I looked a lot like the little mice who were trying to be horses. I was there, but didn’t really have any idea what I was doing. Crafts overwhelm me. Crafts give me aneurysms. Needless to say, I left Cody to survey the oceanic-themed prints, while I loaded the children (her kiddo and mine) into the cart and gave them fun rides.
Then there are those little boys who stare in wonderment and awe at all the Halloween costumes hanging up in the seasonal aisles of Wal-Mart and Target, and struggle on deciding between a muscled-up Superman who looks like he could literally use his biceps to kick the boogars straight out of Goliath’s nose, and the Red Power Ranger.
And finally, there are those little boys who are ONLY CHILDREN. These little boys find the boutique catalogs bearing Halloween costumes that arrive in their mailboxes, because Mama once ordered a funky little T-shirt from the company, and said company has signed her onto their lifetime mailing list. Which is FOREVER. These little boys will pick out an outrageously expensive dress-up number, and say, “But, Mom…Look! Look at how wonderful it is!”
And Mama will insist, “No way. I could buy fourteen skinny, no water chai lattes, add whip, please and thank you, at Starbucks with the money that this establishment wants for that costume!”
And then, because these mamas will eventually rationalize and say, “But I only have one. So, in theory, this costume costs as much as four costumes would, and if I had four children, this is what I’d spend,” and, before she has time to second guess herself, she’s laid down the plastic, and the wonderment that is the Internet has allowed her to place an order.
And said order arrived today.
Today, people. The boy was beside himself with delight.
So really? I feel like I’m on one of those MasterCard commercials. You know, “Main costume body: $39. Extra top part to main costume, which should be included, but, through highway robbery is not: $18. Extra weaponry for costume, in case a battle ensues in the front yard and the boy doesn’t want to be left out of the fight: $18. Seeing your kid unpack the box and shout out, with glee, ‘Mom! This is the best costume in the entire universe! I love it so much! This is going to be my favorite Halloween ever, Mom! Ever!’: priceless.”
And since we tend to wear costumes at our house on…well…a daily basis, I don’t look at it as a one-time expenditure. A costume at our house is a life-long investment. I imagine the boy will wear it on many monumental occasions, like Christmas Day and his sixteenth birthday, when he goes to get his driver’s license.
So you’ll just have to wait for the pictures, and the surprise, because I am not allowed to tell anyone (no one, under a promise) what the boy is going to be for Halloween this year. Only his good buddy, Kellen, has been brought into the secret fold, because the boys have planned their costumes together. They will be united in a brotherhood of the same character.
And Kellen? Well, he has a sewing mama. A mom who isn’t overwhelmed at Michael’s. A mom who will crank out numerous hours at her sewing machine and produce something far, far more elaborate than what the boy has, and she’ll probably end up spending $1.95, total.
I’m just doing my part in stimulating the economy, people. I like to think that I’ve done my part to bring this great country out of its recession.