Halloween is fast upon us. A while back, K decided what our family would be: I would be a cat, she would be a mouse, and Baby S would be, you guessed it, a piece of cheese. (Dad seems to be lacking in the season’s spirit, and has not succumbed to family pressure, so he will be accompanying us trick-or-treating as himself.) Since I value the creativity of putting together a costume myself, rather than simply buying one from a store (because really, where’s the fun in that? Besides, how many prêt-à-porter piece-of-cheese costumes have you seen for five month olds?) I started casting about for the various pieces a few weeks ago. The one thing I knew I had was a pair of grey velour pants for K, which would work famously as part of a mouse costume. I knew it was in K’s drawer that houses her pants. So that was one thing off the list.
I ordered mouse ears and a tail. (I know, I know, I could have made them. But life is hectic these days, so I cut myself some slack.) I found a grey fleece jacket. I ordered a yellow outfit for S. I ordered a baby-sized cheesehead from a Wisconsin supplier. (Oh yes I did.) I thought I had everything figured out. Oh, and I’ll be doing some face-painting for K and me.
Last night, I went into K’s room at the end of the bedtime routine in order to retrieve the pants, so that she could bring her costume pieces to school for their costume parade. And… disaster. No grey pants. The pair I could have sworn I’d seen several times in the past few weeks had vanished. I started pulling everything out of the drawer.
“Mom, what are you doing?” K asked, sitting in her pajamas on her bed, watching me.
“I have to find the grey pants! They’re part of your costume!”
“Oh.” She continued playing with her stuffed animals.
I shoved all the clothing back into the drawer, muttering to myself, then attacked the bottom drawer where here dress up clothes live. No grey pants. I sat on K’s bed and bit my lip.
“I don’t know what to do, sweetie.”
K shrugged. “I guess I can wear something else, then.”
But, but, but! Something else? We don’t have something else that will work! This is what I was telling myself as I wracked my brain for an idea. Meanwhile, another little voice in my head was saying something to the effect of: Jeez, Anjali, don’t worry about it. Clearly K doesn’t care. Why are you getting so agitated?
I glanced at the clock. It was 8:45. Getting late for bedtime. Reluctantly, I gave up, tucked K in and gave her a kiss. I shlumped down the stairs feeling dejected. My husband said out loud what that voice was saying in my head, but nevertheless, I went down to the basement to see if somehow the pants had ended up there. But of course they hadn’t.
In the morning, I went into K’s room to wake her.
“Grey pants?” were the first sleepy words she uttered.
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t know where they are.”
“It’s ok. Why don’t I wear the brown ones? They’re a bit fuzzy, like a mouse.”
Good grief. Why is my six year old more reasonable about this than I am?! I gave her a hug and sent her off to school with her mouse items, and a cheese stick in her lunch box.
Now let’s see if the reasonableness extends to the candy.