Costume Conundrum

Is it just me, or does Halloween seem to get bigger and bigger, and last longer and longer each year?  We've already been to several Halloween events already, and the kids' "treat box" is currently overflowing with all manner of sugary joy.  I would normally be disgusted by the kids slobbering over the treat box like pigs that had just heard "Zoooweeee!!!"... except that I myself have been guilty of rummaging around it in it for the choicest goodies over the last week.

Tonight is trick-or-treat night in our neighborhood, and my son is very much looking forward to adding more booty to his trough of junk food.  One would think that, with so much candy suddenly pouring in, the kids would stop begging for treats in the checkout lines of stores and at the windows of banks, but alas, the plethora of candy seems to have actually raised my children's awareness of how much junk food is readily available.

If I go through the drive-thru at the pharmacy, my son will shout, "Do they have lollipops?  I think they have lollipops!!  I want one!!"  If I'm in the grocery store, the kids will keep their eyes peeled for any candy that might be lying about "for the taking."

"I bet they have Halloween candy!" has become my son's new battle cry. 

This gets tiresome, but not nearly as tiresome as the obsession over Halloween costumes that has been going on for the past month.  Apparently, to children today, the choice of costume has a significant bearing on one's social standing.

I don't remember it being such a big deal when I was a kid.  I have fond memories of Halloween when I was little: I happily went out as a punk rocker year after year—a costume which required little more than some bright clothing and colored hair spray.  I remember one year when a friend of mine defaced a gown with some ketchup and went trick-or-treating as a bloody bridesmaid.  That was perfectly acceptable back then.

Now it seems that the Halloween costume has become some sort of crazy indicator of social status.  I saw this trend when I was a teacher too—the popular kids would show up in school with Scream masks that dripped blood down the inside (have you seen those things? They're dreadful!).   Or they would have fancy superhero costumes expensively modeled after the star of a recent blockbuster film.

The shy kids would arrive in dubious homemade costumes that were difficult to identify.  "Awww, look... it's an elephant!" an unwitting teacher would say, only to have the child don an injured expression and yell, "I'm not an elephant... I'm a kitty cat!"

I think last year was my final chance to outfit my son for Halloween before pop culture dominated his little mind completely.  I had found an adorable costume at the thrift shop, paid three dollars for it, and happily dressed up my boy as a dragon.  Evan proudly announced "I'm gonna be a dragon for Halloween!!" to anyone who would listen for an entire month leading up to the big day.

Unfortunately I was rather uneducated about the details of imaginary animals at the time, so it wasn't until Evan went to school in his costume and all his teachers said, "Awww... what a cute dinosaur!" that I realized I had been mistaken.

Evan donned the familiar injured look and announced that he was, in fact, a dragon.  My husband took the opportunity to laugh at my ignorance and blame me for possibly scarring our son for life.

"How was I supposed to know it wasn't a dragon?" I asked.

"It doesn't have wings!!" my husband replied.  "That should have given you a clue!"

"Well, not all dragons have wings, do they?"  Um... yep... they do. 

Apparently NOT a dragon.

To make matters worse, we went trick-or-treating with friends last year, and my son's best friend went as... you guessed it... a dragon.  With bright, shiny wings.  I could see Evan looking at his friend's costume with envy, so I pulled a ridiculous explanation out of my ass.

"Evan, your friend is a flying dragon, but you're a fire-breathing dragon.  You don't need wings. Isn't that cool?"  He bought the story and even added the "fire-breathing" description to his "I'm a dragon!" chant.  This lasted right up until we started canvassing the neighborhood and were greeted at every door by a well-meaning adult who said, "Awww...look!  A dragon, and a dinosaur!!  How cute!"

Apparently I'm the only moron who didn't know a dinosaur when she saw one.

Well, this year there will be no mistaking what my son is for Halloween—for the past several months he has been obsessed with Spider-Man, so I shouldn't have been surprised when he demanded to be Spider-Man for Halloween.

We searched for costumes online, and I let him choose the one he liked the best (which, fortunately for me, cost a mere $9.99 on Ebay).  Unfortunately, when it arrived I noticed a significant flaw in the design—where there should have been some sort of transparent fabric for eye holes, there were merely tiny pin-holes.  My son looked awesome but couldn't see to save his life.  He insisted he was fine, posed for a picture, then promptly stumbled into a nearby wall.

What the heck?!

So, what I really should be doing right now, instead of writing this blog post, is sewing the white mesh fabric I purchased into the eye holes of his Spider-Man costume.  I also have to use a Sharpie to draw webbing on a pair of cheap red gloves I bought for fifty cents (Evan saw another child in a Spider-Man costume, and the other kid's costume had gloves.  Needless to say, he had to have them too).

Eh, I have a couple more hours.  Plenty of time.

You know, this all seems like a whole lot of unnecessary fuss for what used to be a one-night event. My son is already telling me what I should be for Halloween next year.  Apparently he thinks I should dress up as Tinkerbell.

"But, then you couldn't wear a shirt," he said.

"Tinkerbell doesn't wear a shirt?" I asked.

"Nope," he answered, "she just wears nipples."

Ahhh.... I see.  Nipples.  Silly me.  And here I was, thinking that I might just get away with being a punk rocker next year.