Starting Samhain

We are gearing up for the Halloween party, which makes us basically look like the Adams family to all the nice wholesome little families at Will's school when he shows up nice and early with his copy of Rattlebone Rock, featuring the rhythmic adventures of a bunch of skeletons and ghouls. Fortunately we’re over this realization with all the folks at Laura's school; they already know we're only a step sort of Satan, since we let her read not only Harry Potter, but also the kid equivalent of Stephen King, R. L. Stine. Nothing like being a little wacky. Sometime I think maybe it’s actually a little out of hand—Chris and I bought this really creepy (but extremely cool!) folk art skeleton the other day at this eccentric little shop on our one day of child-freedom—and I haven’t taken out of the bag yet, because I’m afraid it’ll scare Will. It’ll be really spooky on top of the fridge if I can ever recover from the sort of Day of the Dead turned somber look of it.

We did get the biology supply company skull out of the attic the other day (alas, not Yorick, since that seemed a little too much), along with the less ominous trick or treat spin the wheel candy holder. I have managed to resist buying anything else from Bucky’s Boneyard, but it’s tough. We have, though, been shopping for costumes rather seriously. William wants to be Batman. Or a pumpkin. Or a kitty. Or a firefighter. Or a lion. Or whatever he sees the next second he turns around. We did go ahead and buy him a Batman mask and cape when the Halloween stuff first came out in the stores; both he and Laura dress up year round, so he’ll certainly wander around pronouncing “I’m Batman” for months, whether he ends up wearing it at Halloween or not. I’m sure Batman’s not the end of it.

Laura has discovered that I can sew, although she is much more optimistic about my abilities than they warrant. She wanted to be Princess Leia, she announced one day last weekend, so off we went to the fabric store to get yards of white cloth (and possibly a pattern, although I thought I could wing it). Unfortunately we had had a little miscommunication—she wanted to be Princess Amidala, in the skin-tight suit, perfect for climbing the poles to which you’re chained when you’re about to be eaten by strange animals. All this time I had been thinking she had the perfect long hair for those dumb cinnamon roll buns, when she wanted a blaster and a body suit. My machine doesn’t have a knits foot (that I’m aware of), and I’ve never sewn with knits, and besides which, no woman in the world, even a gloriously perfect ten-year old, looks right in that sort of suit unless you have a tailor actually following you around in case you pop the seams. We finally compromised back on the original Princess Leia idea (the long white gown, mind you, not the slave outfit), but now I still have to cut it out and sew it.

Unfortunately this will leave very little time for me to work on anything interesting for myself, so I guess I’ll be a cowgirl again. Yee ha. House to clean, invites to mail, menu to plan, food to cook. Why do I do this party again?