The scariest thing for me about Halloween isn't the gory front yard decorations that pepper the neighborhood, the potential for our house to be toilet-papered (which goes up exponentially when you have a high-schooler) or my complete lack of willpower for fun-sized anything.
No, my major holiday angst comes from trying to help my kids land on marginally creative, yet age and weather appropriate, costumes. And they must be costumes that don't require me to use a needle, thread, glue gun or hammer.
On the whole, I like to think I am better with concept than craft. And then again, sometimes even my "concepts" leave something to be desired.
My first maternal Halloween occurred when my son was just shy of six months. It was the perfect baby age for playing dress up -- old enough to sit still and look cute for pictures, but not quite old enough to crawl away and destroy the whole costume in the first 10 minutes. I had set my personal bar high. I knew I wanted something classic, but not too predicable. Something comfortable, but not too pajama-like. And nothing that would forever date him. The Spice Girls "Wannabe" had been a huge hit earlier that year, but I figured he had the rest of his life to dress up like Baby, Posh or Scary.
After days of store scouring and indecision, I finally settled on a purchased orange onesie. My little pumpkin, of course...could be a pumpkin. But instead of the traditional gourd-like sack with hood that was so in vogue with the folks who design those "Baby's First Halloween" outfits, I was able to track down a little orange beret with a green "stem" on top. No, my guy wouldn't have to settle for being a run-of-the-mill Jack-O-Lantern. With his Parisian-inspired headwear he could be a Jacques-O-Lantern.
Get it? Beret, French--- Jacques-O-Lantern?
Don't worry, neither did anyone else on our block. And I've since given up on trying too hard on Halloween. From that day forward the unwritten costume rule has been you can be whatever you want for trick or treating--just as long as it can be purchased for under $20 and takes no more than 10 minutes of my "creative" time.
Since then my sons have been, among other towering figures of American history, George Washington, Davy Crockett and Michael Jackson. A store-bought powdered wig, coonskin hat and sequined glove, we found, can go a long way in helping to telegraph the spirit of a costume. My daughter has been a non-descript witch of some sort at least three times and a non-Disney princess (her distinction, not mine) twice. She's actually pretty easy to please as long as it involves a can of glittery hair dye.
I do feel a little guilty when I see some of the fabulous disguises kids have sported at our neighborhood's annual Halloween parade. There have been elaborate cardboard computers with working switchboards, balloon-clad bunches of grapes and a glowing, neon stick figure. All have been meticulously researched, designed and executed -- likely with the help of a parent with vision, skills and the patience for detail.
But sometimes a kid just has to settle. And my kids have long since settled into the realization that this holiday doesn't play to their mother's strengths. Unless, of course, you count my ability eat all of the chocolate coating off a Reese's cup without disturbing the peanut butter center.
So come October 31, will you be one of those parents deserving of an Academy Award for costume design? Or are you more like me and depend on the mercy of the 50% off bin at Halloween Express for inspiration?comments powered by Disqus
Lavish costumes, gorgeous sets, a full orchestra and a concession stand where nothing cost more than two bucks and you have a pitch perfect experience at the theater. Oh, and did I mention the ticket prices were just $10 dollars apiece? One could afford to take the whole family for a live theater experience for less than an evening at the Lego movie would cost including popcorn.
I think the first time in recent years that I've felt a real sense of shame, as both a parent and community member, was last Tuesday evening as I sat in a crowded elementary school LMC to listen to Ken Taylor, executive director of the Wisconsin Council on Children and Families, and his colleague, Torry Wynn, present key findings from the 2013 Race to Equity report to our PTO group.
It's Wednesday morning at Allis Elementary School on Madison's east side, and 16 third-graders -- 10 boys and six girls -- enter into an open-space classroom in typical wiggly, giggly style. Some are making goofy faces at one another, some are bouncing around hand-in-hand with friends, and others are just trying to stay out of the whirling-dervish path of activity.
Of the 789 poorly-composed, way-too-dark and out-of-focus photos currently living on my iPhone, I can count on two hands the number that show my kids and me together. And my husband is in probably no more than three or four of those.
Something kind of magical has happened these past two weeks during the Sochi Olympics. There is no question, debate or disagreement on what will be watched on television once all homework is done. Everyone in the family makes time to sit down together to watch an hour of so of the primetime televised games.
Truth be told, though, this month I'm feeling a bit cinematically fried. In some ways, I already feel like I've spent the last week or so at a film festival. A festival specializing in minute-long glimpses of ordinary lives all ending with credits that feature the ubiquitous blue thumbs-up. Yes, it's been the February of the Facebook movie.
Just last week, on precisely the same day the Momastery post was getting over a million well-deserved views, Madison mom Suzanne Buchko was telling a similar story. Not on a blog but instead in the confines of the modestly circulated Franklin-Randall Elementary School weekly newsletter.
Late last month, the Madison Metropolitan School District adopted a five-year, $27.7 million technology plan calling for all district students, including those in the primary grades, to have significantly increased access to their very own tablet or notebook computer by 2019. Some parents, as well as education professionals, questioned whether elementary-aged kids, especially kindergarteners who aren't even able to read or write yet, will gain much benefit from introducing yet another screen into their lives.
This past Monday, had winter's unrelenting weather allowed, Middleton Cross Plains School District teacher Andrew Harris would have once again been at the helm of a classroom. After nearly four years of fighting his dismissal from Glacier Creek Middle School for viewing and passing on sexually explicit material on district computers, MCPSD has been legally forced to reinstate Herris, this time as a seventh-grade science teacher at Kromrey Middle School.
In a study published last week by the National Bureau of Economic Research, academics have found that the 16 and Pregnant series may have played a significant role in the recent decrease in U.S. teen pregnancies.
In our house, sad but true, we've rarely spent the Martin Luther King holiday discussing race, social justice or the power of non-violent civil disobedience. Instead, the third Monday in January has historically been treated as just another day off school, just another long weekend. And it's been a missed opportunity.
It's not something that happens very often, but last Friday, as news of the impending arctic cold snap reached our house, my kids were rooting for Governor Scott Walker. They were rooting for him to take Minnesota Governor Mark Dayton's lead and cancel school throughout the state. They couldn't care less if he had the authority to do such a thing -- if he called off school, he'd be their hero.
Late last semester, as students were packing up their backpacks one final time before winter break, Middleton High School principal Denise Herrmann and assistant principal Lisa Jondle were co-authoring a note home to parents informing them of a widespread cheating scandal involving nearly 250 calculus students at the school.
Breathe in, breathe out. Have you ever been in the heat of a parenting moment with these words ringing through your head? Then you're on the right path toward mindful parenting.
The week between Christmas and New Year's is famous for all sorts of things. Malls are packed with folks exchanging those holiday sweaters that don't fit just right. It's the week those same folks pledge to never again eat another frosted sugar cookie or candy cane (hence the sweater issues). It's also the week the media saturates the public with dozens of "Best of Year" lists.
This will not (although it could) be a treatise on the value of "alone time" for a healthy marriage, though. Nor will it be an ode to how nice it was for me to have a few days off from lunch-packing, carpool-driving and homework-nagging.
For those of you who haven't yet seen it, the eight-week-long transit campaign, placed both inside and on the outside of buses, features a photo of an orange tabby with a stainless steel bar drilled into its head accompanied by the line "I am not lab equipment. End UW cat experiments!" Just as PETA hopes, the image is shocking and demands an immediate response.
If I had my druthers, I'd sit out the entire shopping week that follows Thanksgiving. Black Friday, for starters, has corrupted the fine art of bargain shopping and turned it into a gladiator sport. There is no percentage off that is worth losing sleep, or even worse an eye, over. Especially if you have kids in tow.
When you shop for toys, there is always the conflict between what you think is appropriate/adorable and what the child being shopped for might actually want/play with.
Many of the pop-culture seasonal touchpoints of my youth are completely lost on my kids. You see, while I may have memorized every word to both the Snow Miser and the Heat Miser's songs from The Year Without a Santa Claus, I'm pretty sure the only Rankin-Bass stop-motion Christmas special my kids have ever seen has been Rudolph.