Yesterday was Halloween. Cass had the day off school, and at about 1:30pm, he decided that I should dress up. He flat-out insisted--and had the gigantic pleading eyes and inflated I-will-just-die-if-not emotion to go with it. So I headed into my closet to see what I could rustle up. I might have mentioned something about Dorothy when I found an old pair of red shoes, and since he's reading the Wizard of Oz series in school right now, he flipped. So enamored with the prospect, he vetoed all my other costumes without hesitation or fair consideration. A ruthless judging panel of one, he sat downstairs indian-style while I tried on and exhibited my closet-concocted costumes across the living room catwalk. There was a gypsy, and a sinister ghost charmer. I begged to be a picnic, so I could finally wear my vintage gingham wool Pendleton dress (with vegetables and plastic dinnerware stuffed in the front pockets). The French mom from The Red Balloon. My favorite was the bullfighter. No! No! No! NO! NOOOOO! And when I showed him the unidentifiable '70s lady with a huge afro and glamorous orange painsuit and fur coat, Cass told me it was so ugly, he couldn't even look at me and begged me to take it off. Dorothy was the only acceptable answer. Resistant at first, I gave in (it's about the kids! obviously.) and was happy to wear my hair in pigtails and carry a basket that my mom made. I'm not sure why I'm sharing these photos; I'm fully aware I look like a crazy person. Maybe that's the point. That in some way, I'll get to embarrass Cass despite his resistance. That he'll cringe a little bit every time he looks at these. As my father taught me, that's what being a parent is all about.
But the real joy was their costumes (even though our afternoon runway and photo session was super fun). Especially Cass. Especially this year. Ollie was fiercely adamant about being a racecar driver, but once it came time to wear the actual costume, he could have cared less--and refused to wear the helmet I painted or the racing goggles for more than five minutes. No matter; He was the most adorable racecar driver I've ever seen. And now that I think about it, he did rather enjoy waving the checkered racing flag I made out of felt and a backyard stick. But Cass, he was beyond ecstatic about his knight costume--a total about-face from last year when he cried when we put on his knight costume for the first time, the bendable armor assembled from tin-foil cupcake liners. The horrors! He's been talking about being a real knight with real armor and real weapons for Halloween since the day after last year's costume debacle (someday we will both chuckle that I tried to get away with a stuffed, sequined sword). With some how-to guidance and inspiration from a friend, I learned how to cut and create a breastplate made from a sheet of metal from the hardware store. I have never seen him so imaginatively invested in a role. Cass lived his knighthood every time he slipped the armor over his head and I tied the cape around his neck. The sword, shield and bow and arrows didn't hurt either.
