If I were the type of mother who had time to devote to optional domestics I’d visit an art supply store–where they’d all naturally know me by name. And that name, of course, would be Doris, Flora, or Judy. I’d know precisely how many yards of fabric I’d need. At the checkout counter, I’d buy a butterscotch but wouldn’t eat it until I was in my car.
Once home, with my beige shoes placed on an indoor mat, I would unfold, mark things with chalk, whip out the scissors, and sit at my Singer, sewing Halloween costumes while singing Christmas songs.
I’d, by now, have completed their baby quilts: patches of their baby clothes stitched together in squares and triangles, resembling something like a star or a wheel, a game of tic tac toe, or a chicken dance. For some reason, when I see quilts I think of yamakas and the stained glass collage at Temple Emmanuel, where I spent my childhood Sundays.
As per the pagan costumes, we’d dress up (well, dress down actually) as a family of S’mores, with Phil dressed like a box of Honey Maid Graham Crackers, lest I be considered any type of maid, French or otherwise; I’d be a large white marshmallow, and our kids we’d dress as chocolate bars or chocolate Kisses. We’d attend a Halloween party and win for creativity, but who has the time and patience to create something KNOWING in advance that it’ll last just one season? You know, aside from reality show clothing designers.
Oh, how I wish I knew of some talented, yet terribly bored, seamstresses who’d like to sew all Halloween costumes for us here on out. Alternatively, I will be wearing a t-shirt reading: (Semi) Sweet. Phil will wear (only because I’ll force him) a t-shirt reading: (Bitter) Sweet. And easy way out, the toddler-taters will be Hershey’s Kisses. How sweet. Sickeningly sweet. Almost as bad as the time I dressed them as pumpkins and forced them into a pumpkin patch.
I know it’s way too early to even be thinking of such things, but I can’t quite help myself these days. It seems whenever it’s time for me to sit down and work, thoughts like these ransack my overtaxed brain. So, I end up reorganizing my internet bookmarks, and find, to my surprise, a site that reminds me it’s time to think of decorating our windows and lives in preparation for All Hallow’s Eve. Those who sew must be starting on their costumes by now, no? I can’t imagine ever being that mom. Unless, that is, someone teaches me how easy it is to sew. How easy it is to thread a needle without having to search for that thinger–whatever it’s called, that metal dingy that looks like an ace or a frog in heat. I’ll bet it has no real name. That it’s called "a needle threader." I’m tired just thinking about it. Guess it’s time to go eat candy and add some pep and glee to my victorious* life.
*"Shake up a cocktail. Add a little pep and glee, and we’ve got a victory!"–camp cheer song
Who needs a costume when you’re such a nut naturally?
