 |
|
|
|
|
Family Daze
For some kids, a Halloween costume can be a way of life
By Debbie Farmer
Help! I am trapped in a house with a 6-year-old fairy princess and a blue Power Ranger. And it's all because I read a parenting article that said letting my children choose their own Halloween costumes would encourage creative role-playing and increase their self-esteem. Nowhere did it mention that it would be at the cost of my self-esteem.
I thought it was a brilliant idea--until my daughter insisted on wearing her fairy princess outfit for 15 days in a row. At first I wasn't too worried because I figured it would eventually fall apart from all those times she wore it in the shower. I didn't count on her replacing the torn pieces.
When her tutu finally ripped, she began wearing her frilly nightgown. Shortly after that, the silver slippers were replaced with a pair of pink plastic high heels. And when her wings fell off, she added the purple feather boa from her ballet costume. The only accessory she's missing is an empty bottle in a brown paper bag, and every time we go into a public place people stare at us as if we are AWOL from a high-security mental-health facility.
My son's blue Power Ranger costume wouldn't be so bad if he was a nice, quiet type of super hero. Instead he jumps around the house doing karate kicks and treating everyone as if their only purpose in life is to be an extra in his own private Power Ranger show.
When he's not reenacting scenes, he's watching them on television. I've seen 21 episodes since he got his costume and I can name all the characters. I know all the words to their theme song, and I think I could morph into the pink one if I tried real hard.
Although shouting phrases like "Ninja Frog Zord Power!" or "Back off clay brain!" works great for getting rid of unwanted solicitors, I wondered why he couldn't have picked a nice, quiet costume like my friend Julie's children did.
Her daughter is dressed as Pocahontas and her 4-year-old son is an M&M. They don't cast spells, shed feathers, or karate kick--and I have a feeling when they go into a store, people hardly notice them.
So why do my children look like members of a bizarre cult? Maybe it's the diet soda I drank during my seventh month of pregnancy. Maybe it's a recessive flamboyant gene from my husband's side of the family. Or maybe Julie didn't read the same article I did.
All I know for sure is that I'm trapped in a house with a fairy princess and a high-maintenance Power Ranger, and the only thing I can do is go along with it and hope that they'll outgrow their costumes before we take the family Christmas picture. Besides, there's always a chance that my children are increasing their self-esteem through creative role-playing after all. I know, I know--but please don't take that away from me. It's all I've got.
Debbie Farmer can be reached at debbie@ecis.com.
|
|
|
|
Saratoga, California Since 1955
