In Costume

Growing up, there were a few select years that I had 'good' costumes. I aged out of the legit and into the hand spun around the age of 8 as I recall.

Two of our 'good' costumes were the less fluffy predecessors of Pottery Barn's dress your kid like stuffed animal get ups currently marketed in their catalogs. We had a mouse and a bunny. Small and medium respectively. The third and designated large costume was a witch - a forgiving black mu-mu, complete with cape, black hat, and green mask. My siblings and I took turns being rodents and then graduating to witch; my brother got a pass and the permission to buy a Skeletor costume at that point.

After that, we were left to our own devices. To the 'costume box' in the attic. 

It was a long rectangular white box, typically used in law firms for file storage. By the time I was ten, the box was overflowing with stuff. By the time I was in high school, one box had expanded to two or three. I honestly don't know how we collected most of the random clothes, props and parts that were in these boxes. Some were remnants of Dance costumes. But most - straw hats, silk Asian influenced pajamas, little house on the prairie style dresses, flannel shirts, masquerade ball masks, old sheets - seemingly sprouted from thin air. 

Out of that box, I became a farmer, Madonna, a burlesque version of Minnie Mouse, a Chinese person (cringing with embarrassment), and a butcher. My brother was the pig. 

I never saw the costume box as a way to express my inner creativity as perhaps my sister did - she was always much better at the charade than I. Instead it stressed me out. So I welcomed college. The dawn of trick or treat-less, costume-less, anxiety-less Halloweens. Until I met a girl named Meredith.

She was the girl that owned Halloween growing up. Her family, equipped with hand sewn, embellished, embossed, themed costumes won Trick or Treating every year. And she brought that ownership to Notre Dame with her.

Every year, she made me and the rest of our friends dress up with her. Everyone had to participate, no questions asked. One year we were all super heroes. Another year, the cast of Zoolander. Our senior year, her mom made sashes with personalized badges for each of us so we could be Girl Scout Troop 702. I always moderately hated having to dress up, longing for the more flattering clothes left behind in my closet. But my friends loved it, and I loved my friends, so on went the costumes.

The other weekend, a couple days past Halloween, Troop 702 reunited down in Austin, Texas for a girls weekend.

A couple days late wouldn't have stopped Meredith from celebrating Halloween with her girlfriends back in college, so it didn't stop her in Texas either. Cue the 1980's neon night theme.

There's actually a little more to this story. I might have just suggested the theme. I might have come completely unprepared. Meredith might have made me wear lacy hot pink sleeves with matching head band. We might have all gotten a little out of, or perhaps for some of us back in character. And I might have just been laughing so hard that my face is blurry in just about all of the pictures of me. 

Except this one.

Like any really great friends though, they rub off on you. With this particular group of friends, I've learned to take myself less seriously. I've learned to let the unflattering fly. I've learned that laughter is the best medicine. I've learned that Moms can and deserve to have their own dance parties. And I've learned to love Halloween. Especially the costumes.

Especially the ones that I don't have to make for my kids. Thank you, Amazon.  

    

Lo.