A Costume Ball

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Maybe it’s because I’m determined to make my life harder than it really needs to be.

Maybe I’m simply acting out in order to fulfill a need for a creative outlet.

Or maybe I’m just romanticized by the whole idea of it.

Whatever the reason, I get roped into it every year: homemade Halloween costumes.

My mother made me several homemade costumes when I was in grade school–a clown suit, a ghostbusters uniform, even a replica of Roger Rabbit’s red ensemble complete with a bunny ear headband. I never thought much of it at the time other than, “Oh good! Mom’s finally done with my costume!”

I certainly never envision her slumped over her old Viking into the wee hours of the night, or whittling away her mistakes with a seam ripper until the light outside grew soft and pink.

It never occurred to me–the long lines she had to fight at the fabric store, or the soul sucking frustration that accompanies realizing you have to go back there because you cut out the pattern all wrong. All I knew was that I had the coolest costume ever. Thanks Mom!

Now that I think about it, I believe the biggest reason I’m perched at my sewing machine all October long is so that my children will one day look back and say, “Remember all those costumes Mom made us? Ya, we had a good childhood.”

I think therapists could ask, “So you think you have mother issues…let me ask you this: Did your mother put any time and thought into your Halloween costumes as a kid? Okay then. You’ve got nothing to go on Oprah about. Your mother loved you and she tried her very best. Now, moving on…”

Don’t let me lead you astray. I’m not a seamstress. Truly. I don’t suffer from false modesty. I heart my glue gun and my big roll of duct tape. I don’t quilt. My seams are never straight and if my machine were any lighter, I would’ve thrown it across the room years ago.

But since Halloween costumes are debuted in the dark and only need to endure one night of wear and tear, maybe two tops, my seams can be crooked and my buttons fudged and no one even notices.

The only thing I do want my kids to notice is that each costume was stitched with love. Uneven, puckered, I really should buy stock in seam rippers, love. Even if it’s years from now when they finally do notice.

She even put side pockets in those Roger Rabbit overalls. Wow. Now that was a lot of love.

 

 

 

 

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