Slimer

My kids start discussing Halloween costumes months before the holiday. Generally, I prompt the debate with suggestions on a theme. They were super heroes one year, Greasers another, Robin Hood and Tinker Bell before that. But my persuasive power is waning. They've become too independent for my off the wall ideas. Instead, they flip flop back and forth on more personalized choices each week leading up to Halloween. I tend to order their final selection as close to the holiday as possible to prevent a change of heart at the last minute. 

This year, Bobby was the most indecisive. He originally was set on being something scary. He had visions of a skeleton, then a bloody vampire, then a frightening Frankenstein. But the options for skeleton weren't scary enough, vampires required too much crafting and make-up and he distrusted my ability to deliver, and Frankenstein bordered on babyish. His words, not mine. He finally chose an inflatable, electric green Slimer costume ... 'but only if Dad goes as a Ghostbuster.' Okay. Ordered. And there's no backing out now. 

My parents were in town when the costumes arrived. The kids dug into the Costume Express box, claimed their characters, and immediately put them on to parade around the house. Bobby was the clear favorite, and we laughed and laughed as Peter came down in his adult Ghostbuster costume to match his little sidekick. I couldn't wait to take pictures on Halloween.

On the 31st, as fate would have it, Bobby decided he didn't want to be a big green blob anymore. Instead he wanted to go as his two-year old self, good old Super Man. The costume was snug to say the least, but he argued that he could see better and run faster in it. Fair points. But I spent $50 on Slimer, buddy, come on! 

No dice. He was suited up and not looking back. 

So instead of the perfectly planned, theme-oriented cast of characters that I envisioned that evening, I found Rapunzel, Hermione, a too-tight Super Man, a Ghostbuster, Ketchup and Mustard. A motley crew, but a happy one. 

Halloween felt normal. And everyone that I talked to said the same. It was an almost eerie reminder of what life was like before the pandemic. It was refreshing: to focus on trivial fights over costume selections, to decorate the house, to see the kids run off with their dad collecting candy, to experience the sugar high and bed time low of Halloween, to celebrate like we always have and photograph the memories. It felt like the world was in order. 

But if Halloween was defined as normal, Thanksgiving will be characterized as abnormal. 

As the virus spreads, allegedly propelled by Halloween parties, the CDC has said not to travel. So we aren't going to Pittsburgh. And for the first time ever, I won't spend a holiday with my family in a given year. 

In my state, we are encouraged to only dine with those in our household, or to keep the celebration size to six people. We have seven under this roof, so Slimer might have to eat outside. Just kidding, buddy. 

To that end, the officials advise to eat outside if you can. In the upper midwest, that is typically not an option in late November. 

My Grandma's heirloom recipes call for a 14 or 15 pound bird I think. With only five of us eating the solid part of dinner, I'll need to pare down the portions.  

The restaurants and bars are closed, so no Thanksgiving eve revelries.  

There is a telecast of a virtual Macy's Day parade. I don't even know what that means. 

And while I have my reservation for Mass on Thursday, I'm praying they don't close the churches by then. 

This litany of change is what the world is focused on. The new abnormal. The departure from the familiar. The differences, inconveniences and sacrifices. But similar to how we got through Easter, I've been reflecting on the good that has come from the pandemic inspired shifts. Perhaps the normalcy we all miss needed a change. 

For example, don't you wonder how you ever ate a piece of cake after it was blown all over? Or took M&Ms from the communal dish at work that you know was handled by unwashed hands. The prescription of public health measures in our society is long over due. I actually feel like we might not get sick this fall - and we always get sick in the fall. And winter. And spring. 

I've found that people have learned to cope with humor more than ever. And the stuff going around online is hysterical. 

I've never talked to my high school and college friends as much - even though it's not in person, we've made efforts to call each other, zoom and text like we never have before. 

I've also gotten closer with my community and the families in our neighborhood - the friendly faces on my walks make my day. 

Working from home, prior to my maternity leave, made me more productive on the job and at home. 

Smaller gatherings have replaced chaos with intimacy. 

And I've appreciated the blessings of an open school and church in an unimaginable way. I can't thank our teachers and Parish staff enough. 

So basically, I think Bobby was onto something the moment he said he didn't want to be Slimer for Halloween. He was tired of being slimed this year. Instead he reached for something super. Because in this pandemic, we need more heroes, less Slimers, more smiles.  

Lo.