And now I bring to you the obligatory after-Halloween wrap-up blog post where I tell you that I dressed up as a Real Orange County Housewife for Halloween. I wore a fuchsia Juicy track suit, had french manicure polish on my toe nails, a feather piece in my hair, big ol’ fake knockers, and a Starbucks blended iced coffee in one hand and a glass of Chardonnay in the other. Cheers!
Just kidding, no one would know I was dressed up. It would basically be a typical day for me, only I’d have bigger boobs.
This year I didn’t dress up. Actually I never dress up, but I always want to. The urge is very strong in me. But I fight it, with everything I have. Mainly because my husband doesn’t enjoy my company when I’m wearing a Magnum P.I. costume with matching mustache. Perhaps he’s jealous of my aviators, or maybe it’s because I look better than him?
Well whatever. Halloween’s over and I’m not bitter that I didn’t dress up, okay maybe just a little bit, and I might just retaliate by dressing up on a day in the very near future. Maybe to your daughter’s 4th birthday party? I’ll be the one dressed as a slutty astronaut. Happy Halloween, er, I mean Birthday I got a glow-in-the-dark solar system and fishnet stockings.
Berlyn and Hudson chose to be matchy-matchy this year. Honestly I had very little to do with it. This was the first year that I fought the urge to interject my sage advice and wise opinions. Of course I always have a say, but this year I let them decide, and they were so excited with their choice of Lightening McQueen race car drivers. Seriously, if I just printed out some Cars logos and scotched taped them to a pair of red sweatpants they would have been just as happy. But I caved and actually bought them costumes.
Their joy is my joy.
When I dropped Berlyn off at school in her costume, I’ll admit, I was a little hesitant. Because at her age every single girl dresses up as a princess of some sort. But not Berlyn, there wasn’t a stitch of pink on her, no flouncy dress or golden scepter to wave around. When she met up with her pack of friends at school they circled around her and told her she looked like a boy, and one of her friend’s said, “I don’t like your costume.”
My eyes widened and held my breath, waiting to hear what Berlyn would say. I didn’t want her to feel bad for choosing something counter-gender. I wanted to celebrate her uniqueness, and I certainly didn’t want anyone to crush her spirit. I know I can’t protect her forever, but she’s 4 and I’m going to try until she’s at least 57.
Then she says, “Well, I like your costume.”
Maybe it was the high I was riding from raising such a well-adjusted and secure young lady, or maybe it was my coffee kicking in, or maybe it was because I was just really, really hungry, but whatever it was, I got home from dropping her off and spent the rest of the day in the kitchen making fall food.
Pumpkin pie, caramel, cookies, chili, corn bread, apple cider, popcorn, and whipped cream (for the pie)
Everything was entirely homemade, and everything went entirely into my belly.
After that we went trick-or-treating, and I stole all my kids candy, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, right?