Maybe those feelings of guilt from abusing my wicked 9-year-old negotiating skills to take advantage of my innocent younger sister have contributed to my dislike of Halloween. Who knows? I just kind of hate it, that's all. It's not really a religious thing; I think it's possible to separate all of the hedonistic evil stuff from the innocent cultural celebration of neighborhood kids going door-to-door dressed as a bat or a princess or a ghost or a spoon. But for some reason, parts of it just grate on me like the sound of Lila scraping her teeth on the stainless steel measuring cup. Can you hear it? Yep. You're welcome.
I hate the combination of orange and black. I hate the creepy masks and evil-looking yard art that overtake every store. I hate the sugar-high my students have for the first half of November. I hate the general creepiness of the fact that any weirdo hiding behind a Jason mask could be walking around with our kids. Although sometimes that weirdo is just Joe Montana trying to freak out the neighborhood youngsters - yeah, that happened to Eric's friend, Sue. But once again, I digress.
My husband on the other hand LOVES Halloween. That's right. He was the 18-year-old zombie walking around with a pillowcase when all the kiddos were already home for bed. Okay, maybe he was 12, but still he was much too old for trick-or-treating. My point is, we disagree on the virtues of Halloween. We've had many-a-discussion around whether or not we will do Halloween with our kids. I think I've lost. Apparently my cunning argument of "But, but, the hideous color combinations! And the monster-fied Target!" isn't grounds for appeal. So, begrudgingly, I've been considering Lila's first Halloween costume. Only every time I look at baby costumes online I get that same creeped-out feeling that I get when I look at Anne Geddes pictures. Children just should not be dressed as flower pots or hot dogs.