My mom is far more crafty than I, which isn’t saying much because most every Halloween costume she made me revolved around a cardboard box of some sort (see Exhibit A). I was a Hi-C grape juice box, which was almost impossible to walk in because the box was narrow and my knees knocked on it every time I moved. Nevermind the fact that I was quite obviously very jealous of my friend, Jennifer, who went as Madonna (my idol), complete with makeup, lots of lace, baubles, and fun colors in her hair.
Oh, and then there was this other year when I was just a box that had orange and black streamers glued all over it and I donned a sad homemade hat (please see Exhibit B). What was I anyway, Mom? A Halloween present? Clearly you were a witch, maybe I was supposed to be some kind of strange sidekick or something.
Let’s not forget the year that I was a jack-in-the-box (Exhibit C). I look super happy there, don’t I? I mean, who wouldn’t love all that itchy crap around her neck coupled with the inability to move her arms? Don’t even ask me how I went to the bathroom while wearing this
contraption, er, costume, because I have no recollection. I’ve blocked it all out. Even years of intense psychotherapy and medication couldn’t coax the memories from me.
Suffice it to say that being stuffed into boxes all those years explains why I buy my children’s costumes from Target. Yes there’s the complete absence of the crafty gene which I mentioned, but also the fact that I’m still not sure how many of my neuroses can be attributed to these scary costumes from my childhood. I can’t even sew on a button, so I suppose I’m being rather hard on my mom; however, I never want my daughters to feel boxed in. They’re quite happy wearing crappy, paper-thin bumblebee costumes that fall apart after one or two wearings. Mom of the Year I’m not, but it sure beats stressing over learning how to work a freakin’ sewing machine!