Monday, October 24, 2005

Witching hours

Friday, I run some errands. Acquire one witch's hat, white gloves, and mouse ears (part of a whoreslut "costume" package, which includes also a bowtie and a poofy black furball of a tail — for all those who can't tell their rodents from their rabbits — but for a dollar!). Also, some felt, just in case. The afternoon was a success, even if I feel nauseated and exhausted for it.

Helena is delighted, alternates donning the hat — une sorcière! — and the mouse ears — Meeckey Mous-eh! (she exclaims with a thick French accent). She wants noses to match. I debate: makeup or attachment.

Saturday, I begin modifying the witch's hat, by making the brim much smaller. A red towel from the linen closet with a few cuts is fashioned into a sorceror's robe. I rummage about for a length of rope that will serve to tie it shut. Helena struts in front of the mirror, draped in her towel. She carries the video box for Fantasia with her, making a show of repeatedly comparing her ears, robe, gloves against the Platonic ideal to her audience (me, Papa, the cats).

We stop by a mall. Helena, inspired by the Halloween extravaganza that is the mall, decides she wants to be a pumpkin.

Sunday, we head to the market to buy a pumpkin, which does nothing to discourage Helena's concept for a pumpkin disguise. At home, Helena expresses displeasure at the modified witch's hat, it being no longer particularly witch-like.

Monday, I confirm that I have an old can of blue spray paint (why?), and proceed, by an as yet untried force of mama-magic, to transform the now unwitchlike witch's hat into a blue sorceror's hat. It's a dark, dusty, grayish blue, which doesn't seem quite right. Perhaps I will buy paint the right colour. Or I may decide that the hat looks blue enough by light of day and hints of blue enough by cloak of night after all. We will afix a silver moon and stars, then somehow weld the hat and ears together.

Helena returns home from daycare. "Je veux déguiser comme un squelette."

All evening long, her imaginary skeleton friend is following us around. It even follows us into the bathroom. She leads it by the hand, opens doors for it. I hope it's not a mouse skeleton.


Gaelicgrl said...

That's very cute!

Anonymous said...

I really feel your exasperation here, Isabella.

It helps to know that it is truly typical, this highly anal-retentive behavior that children exhibit when they are Helena's!

Hang on, it gets better. Well, we just get used to it, I guess, this forming one's own identity business.

Vodka helps!

Isabella said...

I wouldn't go so far as "exasperation" — I was going more for, say, "bemusement."

GaelicGrl said...

I hope I didn't offend, Iz. I couldn't help but see the humour in it all because toddler/preschooler behaviour can be so bewildering.

I go through the same thing with food: elaborately detailed requests for food met by my work to get it on the table...only to have her change her mind and say, "No thank you. Cheese, please."

rachel said...

We're livin' la vida toddler over here as well. My sewing machine decided to break, so after spending a disproportionately long time hemming a centurion cape by hand, I tried it on the laddie yesterday evening, only to have him scream: "Get it off! Get it off!"

I'm hoping this year's costume drama will cure me of needing to make costumes FOREVER.

Suzanne said...

I'm so impressed that you are taking this all in stride. Fickleness in the face of all that parental effort would put me in a mood most foul!

Anonymous said...

"Nauseated and exhausted" equals bemusement? Wow, you're definitely more even tempered than I.



GaelicGrl said...

I take the same approach as you. Glad you weren't offended!

melinama said...

I hope you're planning to post a picture of the girl in her finished outfit!