It’s hard enough to figure out what to wear on a regular day. Add in a holiday where the entire point is to judge your outfit to determine your worthiness for candy and the pressure becomes overwhelming. That’s why my kids have so much trouble deciding on Halloween costumes. Getting the four of them to agree to anything is already a challenge. If I needed a true consensus on what to do as a group outfit by October 31st, we’d reach an understanding by the following December. To break the deadlock, I set the bar a little lower. I shoot for two kids who like the idea, one who’s indifferent, and one who’s in active rebellion against it. That’s as close as we’ll ever get to a unanimous decision. Democracy in action.
It might seem like less work if I let the kids pick out individual, unrelated costumes, but surprisingly that route requires even more effort. Then we run into situations where one kid wants to be a ghost, one wants to be a Power Ranger, and one wants to be Optimus Prime, complete with an eighteen-foot-tall metal exoskeleton and pneumatic arms and legs. Fun fact: When my then-three kids found out Lola was pregnant with our fourth, they suggested only two names: Elsa for a girl, and Optimus Prime for a boy. It’s a shame I’m incapable of making members of the male sex since that’s definitely the name I would have gone with. Regardless, I want all costumes to require a similar budget and effort level. If I can’t buy it with one-click shopping, I’m out. Also, group costumes are better because they’re easier to explain. When someone asks what we are, I want to be able to say, “Smurfs,” instead of launching into a full explanation of what each kid is supposed to be. Most days, I’m lucky to call the right child by the right name. Giving a detailed backstory of what each of them is dressed as is out of the question.
This year, my twelve-year-old, Betsy, gave the winning costume suggestion. She said we should be beauty queens. This was a great idea since we’re all beautiful, especially me. I’ve always known I’d shine in a dress and heels. More importantly, it was within my target budget of just north of free. While I couldn’t order cheap used dresses online (at least not as cheaply as I wanted them), Lola swung by a thrift store and snagged bags full of them. Each dress cost between three and five dollars, which even I can’t complain about. She had to buy multiple dresses for everyone since customers are banned from trying them on in the store. It’s a safety thing. Everyone knows the initial covid outbreak started at dressing rooms in Goodwill. In reality, stores first closed fitting rooms in the early days of covid back when the science was new and people were sanitizing groceries. Once researchers figured out how the disease was actually transmitted, stores kept their dressing rooms closed because it was easier with their greatly reduced staff. Welcome to the new normal, where you have to buy outfits on a hope and a prayer. I’m size Please God Let This Fit.
There were heaps of dresses to choose from. Logically, all four girls fought over the same one. It shouldn’t have been an issue since they’re all different sizes, as is clearly evident in every photo I’ve taken of them in stairstep formation. Unfortunately, I own a sewing machine and could make any dress fit any kid. My extremely limited tailoring skills have come back to haunt me. Ultimately, Mae wore the contested dress and didn’t need any alterations. That should raise a few eyebrows since the sophisticated blue ensemble was clearly meant for an adult. It shouldn’t have fit a ten year old. I don’t know who needs to hear this, but don’t ever feel like you need to live on salads. The next time you go out to eat, assert your dominance by eating the entire basket of breadsticks and a pile of steaks.
My six-year-old, Waffle, wore a green dress that mostly fit her right off the bat. I just took in some extra fabric on the sides since she’s so skinny. No matter how much I try to feed her, she still lives mostly on spite. In my stories, she’s larger than life, but in the real world, she’s smaller than all her classmates. That makes her hard to dress and even harder to catch. It’s the little ones you have to watch out for.
I also had to alter Betsy’s dress. She picked a fancy pink ball gown that was too long. I took in the bottom with especially poor quality workmanship, but it wasn’t enough. She was still constantly stepping on it during our trial run Saturday. We need to adjust it again before we go trick-or-treating tonight. I offered to do it with the sewing machine, but Betsy said she’ll use safety pins and take care of it herself this time. I’m making my kids more independent one botched tailoring job at a time.
Lucy didn’t wear a new dress at all and instead chose something from Lola’s closet. It’s one that my now-wife wore to a Christmas dance when we were dating in college. That sounds slightly alarming since Lucy is eight. For the record, Lola was not the size of an eight-year-old. I mean, she was at some point, but not when we were dating. It was a knee length dress on Lola and a full length dress on Lucy. I just took in the straps a bit so that it went from her collar bones to her ankles. For comparison, here’s Lola in the dress. Decide for yourself who wore it better.
Lola and I were both eighteen in that picture. Now we’re twice that age. Well, twice that age plus a year if you want to make me feel as old as possible by using math. I used that image as my profile picture for a decade as an anonymous blogger. It served the dual purpose of hiding my face and proving that, at least once, I had been in the presence of a woman. I thought it made me look cool and mysterious, but in reality I was neither. It’s easy to stay unknown when literally no one cares who you are.
Lola selected something from her own wardrobe. It seems like cheating to do fancy dresses for Halloween when you’re already a woman who wears dresses. That just left me. Lola snagged exactly one dress for me at the thrift store, and I was actually able to wear it. Somewhere out there, there’s a 6’2” goddess with roughly my dimensions. Get it girl. The dress wasn’t a perfect fit. My boobs are still non-existent, despite all the chest workouts I’ve done in the gym. I’m an A cup for life. I opted not to put in fake mammary glands since it seemed like that would send the wrong message to my daughters. While the dress was too baggy in front, it was too tight around my rib cage. I could only zip up the dress about a fourth of the way. Instead of altering it, I just had Lola tuck in the open flaps in the back and let the neck strap do the work of keeping the dress up. In case you go shopping for me in the future, my lower half is a women’s size 10 and my upper half is a women’s size question mark. Maybe just buy me a skirt and a poncho made out of a black trash bag. Then I’d be ready for the runway.
Well, almost. Once I was in the dress, we discovered it revealed too much skin for everyone’s comfort. What would have been elegantly risque on a beautiful woman was simply disturbing on me. No dress should ever show off that much chest and back hair. To compensate, I wore a gray tank top underneath. I also had on running shorts. Basically, I was wearing my everyday gym uniform with a dress thrown on top. I was ready to attend a fancy ball or run a 5k. Get you a man dressed as a woman who can do both.
Our costumes weren’t quite done. We were beauty queens, not random women in dresses. We needed sashes and tiaras to complete the look. Lola found six-packs of both online. The sashes came blank. I grabbed markers and let the kids pick what they wanted to write. Waffle chose to be Miss Indiana in a showing of home state loyalty. Lucy picked Miss Arizona to be in any state where Waffle wasn’t. Mae went with Miss America in a show of dominance over her sisters. Betsy opted for Miss Alaska. That way she’d have an excuse to wear a coat over the top if it’s cold when we go trick-or-treating. That kid is going places. I don’t know where, but she’ll be warm when she gets there.
That just left Lola and me. I thought about being the state of denial, but the joke wouldn’t exactly work with “miss” in the front. Instead, I went with Miss Take. Anyone who took one look at me could tell that was the truth. As for Lola, she left her sash blank. She was Miss Ing. I hope I’m that clever the next time I don’t feel like writing something.
We gave our costumes a trial run Saturday at a trunk-or-treat event. I typically expect an unseasonable cold snap anytime we go out for candy, but this time, it was nearly seventy degrees outside. Half of us didn’t even layer up under our costumes. That was a nice reprieve since, on Halloween, I’m sure our dresses will be buried under coats and sweaters. Here’s us Saturday in what was probably the one and only time our outfits will be visible to the outside world.
I pride myself on realism in these newsletters. You know, other than the blatant hyperbole that takes up ninety-five percent of them. Lest you think we got a passable picture in one try, here are some of the 9,000 outtakes. I fill approximately three hard drives in each attempt to get one good picture, and even then, at least one kid will still have their eyes closed.
In case you’re wondering, that’s not really my hair. I know it’s hard to tell. I’m the only one wearing a wig since everyone else was more than ready in the flowing locks department. They’ve been preparing for this their whole lives. The kids especially enjoyed this year because they got to wear makeup, which is a million times cooler than face paint. That might have been the entire reason half of them agreed to this costume idea. I was going to let them do my makeup, too, but we ran out of time. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but girls sometimes take a while to get ready. It was just as well that we didn’t get to my makeup since no one would have been able to see it anyway. Half of my face was covered by a beard, and the other half was shrouded by the wig. I have no idea how people with long hair see around it. It was constantly in my eyes and mouth. I think I ate half of it.
We made quite an impression at the trunk-or-treat event. Despite the fact that we were just some random people in thrift store dresses, we turned a lot of heads. I assume we did, anyway. I had virtually no peripheral vision thanks to the wig. The comments were all extremely supportive, not that anyone ever puts down a kid’s costume to their face. Halloween is a day for pretend monsters, not real ones.
After that trial run, we’re ready for the main event tonight. Hopefully, we’ll come back with thirty pounds of candy. I hate giving my kids sugar, but I’m also intensely competitive and need to beat last year’s high score. The best part of life is being a hypocrite. If my dress slows me down, I might have to strip down to my tank top and running shorts for increased mobility. The kids are big enough now that I don’t have to push any of them in a stroller or pull them in a wagon. The downside is we don’t have any wheeled vehicles to bear the candy load. Maybe I’ll go with Mae’s suggestion from last week and take a wheelbarrow. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.
Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for now. Catch you next time.
James
Our Costumes