Last year I had a temper tantrum in Target when we were shopping for the boys' Halloween costumes. I kicked and I screamed, in the most holiest of holy places . . . TARGET. It was a tad embarrassing.
Like the developmental milestones that we watch our children conquer during their first year of kindergarten, a year can do alot for a mom, in terms of growth.
That's right, I learned something.
[Hide your shock and amazement now please]
You see, I was so bent out of shape about the goriness and the stupidness and the ridiculousness of buying costumes that I completely ruined the experience for myself and came very close to ruining it for my children. Yes, I still eschew purchasing bloody serial killer costumes for the boys, but this year I was a lot more relaxed as I kept repeating the mantra "It's not about me, it's about them" over and over again in my head.
We stood in front of the huge display wall at our local party outlet, looking at the millions of choices in Halloween garb. It was intimidating, to say the least.
The boys had an idea of what they wanted to be for Halloween before we made the trip, and I encouraged them to stick to their original plans, but it would be impossible for anyone to not be distracted when faced with so many choices. And choices there were!
There were pirates, and knights, and gorillas. There were race car drivers, and doctors, and firefighters. There were power rangers, and space men, and vampires. And yes, there were Freddy Kruegers and Chuckies too - but oddly, nobody wanted to be them this year. And aside from the packaged costumes, where all the accessories were included, there were aisles of wigs and weapons and face paint.
It's a wonder I did not hyperventilate just walking through the front doors.
I half expected a scene. I expected that at least one of my children would pitch a fit and cry about not being able to get the mask with the fake blood. I would not have been the least bit surprised if that person had been my four-year-old daughter. Not one bit.
But, that didn't happen. We left the store within 30 minutes (something I consider a minor miracle), costumes in hand and dignity in tact. And, we didn't even have to take out a second mortgage to pay for the costumes, they were cheap! Thus, proving once again, that it is never too late to teach an old dog new tricks.
Or, in my case, a mom.