One More Reason to Hate Halloween
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I promise, this will be the last time I mention Halloween on this blog this year. But I just couldn't let this go.
For the record, I hate Halloween. I am a Halloween Grinch. And it has very little to do with the "true meaning" of Halloween and all that. It's because I'm not creative or crafty.
Starting in early September I get knots in my stomach when I think about having to come up with a costume. And buy candy. And carve pumpkins. The whole thing just makes me break out in hives.
None of it--and I mean NONE of it--is fun for me.
I am so glad my girls are getting older. Two of them did not dress up this year, and Maggie thought up her own costume. (Too cute--she wanted to be a chef. All we had to do was go to a local restaurant supply house and buy the jacket and hat. Easy peasy!)
So my week last week was anxiety-ridden, what with all the hoopla and build-up surrounding yesterday's festivities. And to top it all off, Maggie had summoned me to the Halloween party at her school.
"Pleeeeaaase, Mom? It's the LAST Halloween party I'll ever have."
How could I say no?
The night before Halloween, as we were sitting around the dinner table, Maggie's school principal called. No, he didn't call US personally, he called everyone in the school collectively. They have one of those call-everybody-at-once systems that comes in real handy sometimes, like when a child is nearly abducted in the neighborhood and they need to alert parents to be "extra vigilant" with our children.
But I digress.
Mr. Patterson called us while we were eating dinner, and the reason for his call was to remind everyone of the "costume standards" that were expected the next day.
No knives.
No fake blood.
No masks.
No weapons of any kind.
Nothing depicting any gore.
Basically, the girls could come dressed as Laura Ingalls Wilder and the boys could be Alfonzo.
Anyway, we were expecting this call--it comes every year--so after I hung up the phone we were all talking about it. "Isn't it just too bad that kids have to be reminded to not bring this stuff to school?" I asked. "Who would want to have a gory costume anyway?"
And then the high schoolers piped up.
"Mom, that's nothing. Today our principal had to make an announcement reminding kids in our school that they couldn't dress up as Playboy Bunnies."
"What?! Are you serious?" My husband and I spoke in unison.
"Oh yeah," Kate replied. "Last year there were all kinds of girls dressed up as, ah, sleezy jailers with handcuffs and everything."
Oh yeah, just put that on my ever-growing list of reasons to hate Halloween.
And consider my world officially rocked.
For the record, I hate Halloween. I am a Halloween Grinch. And it has very little to do with the "true meaning" of Halloween and all that. It's because I'm not creative or crafty.
Starting in early September I get knots in my stomach when I think about having to come up with a costume. And buy candy. And carve pumpkins. The whole thing just makes me break out in hives.
None of it--and I mean NONE of it--is fun for me.
I am so glad my girls are getting older. Two of them did not dress up this year, and Maggie thought up her own costume. (Too cute--she wanted to be a chef. All we had to do was go to a local restaurant supply house and buy the jacket and hat. Easy peasy!)
So my week last week was anxiety-ridden, what with all the hoopla and build-up surrounding yesterday's festivities. And to top it all off, Maggie had summoned me to the Halloween party at her school.
"Pleeeeaaase, Mom? It's the LAST Halloween party I'll ever have."
How could I say no?
The night before Halloween, as we were sitting around the dinner table, Maggie's school principal called. No, he didn't call US personally, he called everyone in the school collectively. They have one of those call-everybody-at-once systems that comes in real handy sometimes, like when a child is nearly abducted in the neighborhood and they need to alert parents to be "extra vigilant" with our children.
But I digress.
Mr. Patterson called us while we were eating dinner, and the reason for his call was to remind everyone of the "costume standards" that were expected the next day.
No knives.
No fake blood.
No masks.
No weapons of any kind.
Nothing depicting any gore.
Basically, the girls could come dressed as Laura Ingalls Wilder and the boys could be Alfonzo.
Anyway, we were expecting this call--it comes every year--so after I hung up the phone we were all talking about it. "Isn't it just too bad that kids have to be reminded to not bring this stuff to school?" I asked. "Who would want to have a gory costume anyway?"
And then the high schoolers piped up.
"Mom, that's nothing. Today our principal had to make an announcement reminding kids in our school that they couldn't dress up as Playboy Bunnies."
"What?! Are you serious?" My husband and I spoke in unison.
"Oh yeah," Kate replied. "Last year there were all kinds of girls dressed up as, ah, sleezy jailers with handcuffs and everything."
Oh yeah, just put that on my ever-growing list of reasons to hate Halloween.
And consider my world officially rocked.
