I've been avoiding this for a couple of weeks now, but with Halloween a mere 9 days away, I need to face the music.
I need to make a Halloween costume.
Believe me, this is not by choice. I'm no Martha Stewart (no offense if you're reading this blog, Martha.) If I've learned anything during my almost-7 years of parenthood, I've learned my limits as a mom. And pretty high on that list is making Halloween costumes. We've always been pretty fortunate that whatever the kids wanted to be could be found at Toys R' Us or Target.
Not this year. At least not for Boo.
Betty's costume was purchased more than a month ago, when we happened upon a rack of Princess finery at TJMaxx and she promptly declared that she wanted to be "a royal." The Fairy Godmother doled out $19.99 and Royal Betty she became. When we got home, I asked Boo what he wanted to be.
"A corn on the cob," he answered definitively.
A wha ...? "Oh, that sounds nice," I said, not worrying too much about this because there was, maybe, the chance he'd change his mind. Maybe.
Not so. I asked him again. "I want to be a corn on the cob."
"You sure about this? What about, say ... a farmer!"
"No. A corn on the cob."
In phone conversations with my mother and mother-in-law, he's announced that he is going to be a corn on the cob.
What 6-year insists on being a freakin' corn on the cob for Halloween?
Clearly, this is not a notion that will be disabused anytime soon. A friend of mine offered a suggestion for making said costume. Get a yellow sweatsuit, get a fabric pen and make "kernels" on the suit, and get some green fabric and wear it like a jacket of sorts. This I think I can do.
But the time is tick-tick-ticking away, there's a chill in the air, and All Hallows Eve is nigh. Dread looms. Fear portends. A costume must be made. Who knoweth what wrath an untrained Mommy can wrought?
Be afraid, my child. Be very afraid.