DotMoms

Halloween is here again

by andrea

Halloween is one of those holidays when, as a parent, you get to re-live part of your lost childhood. You can wear a costume, spook people as they come to the door (even randomly on the street, if the mood strikes), make people touch wet spaghetti and peeled grapes, and no one would think poorly of you.

You can decorate your front door, spend hours carving up stray vegetables with sharp instruments, and act as crazy as is allowable by law. As an added bonus, there's all that candy. At what other point do you ever allow yourself such a large amount (not to mention a wide variety) of sweets?

Do you remember what Halloween was like when you were a kid? There was this exhilarating sense of freedom ... your parents open the front door and let your little costumed self fly right out the door. There was a feeling of fear, mixed with the tremendous responsibility that comes when a kid is allowed to choose his or her own path. In this case, it meant strategic route planning, a plan with this purpose: to extract highly sugared goods from the maximum number of neighboring homes.

The darkness, the temperature, the sound of leaves crunching under my feet, the rustling of costumes and the shrieks of children ... all of this adds up to this wonderful concoction that's as close to youth as we're going to get in the month of October. It all comes back to me every year.

Being such a young family (with children who are finally old enough to appreciate the holiday), I have been able to re-experience the joy of the season. And happily our own traditions have evolved as the years go by.

Emma had her own tradition: to wear her pink Barbie princess dress at every opportunity. But this year she's finally breaking away from it. She's going to be a witch instead.

Sarah was a lion last year. This time she's the one moving into the princess dress. They're both adorable when they're dressed up. And although I don't want to stereotype senior citizens as compulsive and heavy-handed candy distributors, many little old ladies gave them extra candy by virtue of their cuteness. I had to agree. They were pretty darn cute. They've learned VERY EARLY that cuteness = more candy.

As per the tradition we do our pumpkin carving the night before. Last year was the first time Sarah was able to wield a small knife (under supervision, of course) and take part in the traditional Disemboweling of the Gourd. I am fairly certain that sticking your hands in the depths of a pumpkin brings out certain primitive tendencies. Emma took great pleasure in the whole process. She took the whole thing very seriously. I have to admit, I get into the carving as well. In fact, it's my second-favourite part of Halloween.

Last year was the warmest Halloween I could remember. No parkas! Yay! Let me tell you: it sucks to wear a parka. It really lessens the impact of scary witch/sorcerer/whatever, so it was nice that the kids could do without this extra layer of clothing that is typically necessary in our climate.

We live in a good neighborhood for loot. There is a lot of good stuff doled out, mostly chocolate and chips. There are no orange-and-black wrapped filling-pullers or Thrills gum handed out here. (Is it me, or do Thrills taste exactly like shaving cream?) Most of the homes are open for business. And everyone who's trick or treated before knows to stay away from the ones that don't have their lights on because that means that they're not-participating in the Ritual Distribution of Candy.

Last year when the girls and I were walking along the street, part of the next house was obscured from my view, but I was able to see that the living room light was on. Emma was getting far ahead of me, so I shouted and directed her to go there. Suddenly, almost from nowhere, this lady appeared next to me.

"You know," she began, in this crisp voice. "The general rule of thumb [ed: italics denote the seriously irritating parts of this conversation] is that you look to see if the porch light is on. That's how you know that they're giving out Halloween candy."

Here I was, someone who was more than familiar with the North American tradition of candy collecting. Why was she telling me this? I was an expert in my day! The comebacks filled my mind afterwards. Many of which wouldn't be polite to write here. Besides, my children were well within earshot.

Anyway, when all was said and done our family divvied up the candy. We've managed to brainwash the girls into believing that Halloween is a season of sharing, and that they're required, by parental law, to let us eat some of their loot. I think that's a pretty sweet deal, don't you?

Pretty in pink

By Betsy

As I've said before, I am no fan of the color pink. I blame my mother for this (poor moms, they get all the grief). I was a blonde, blue-eyed child, so of course she felt that pink should be my color, right down to the pink bedroom with the pink gingham bedspreads and the gorgeous walnut furniture covered with thick coats of pink enamel paint.

But I didn't appreciate her efforts at all -- I was the serious, introspective child who saw shades of grey in the books I devoured. And my sister, who shared the room with me, was far more likely to dismember her Barbies and turn the bedspreads into forts than she was to adopt the pink vibe.

Neither one of us were "girly girls" -- but that didn't stop our mother from looking at us through her rose-tinted view of what she wanted us to be, and doing what she could to fashion our worlds accordingly.

Fast-forward 30 or so years to the arrival of my daughter Zoe. I'm now a snarky ex-New Yorker with red hair, a deep affection for black, and a strong feminist sense that no daughter of mine will be stereotyped into wearing pink.

So what is my strong, assertive, budding feminist daughter's favorite color? Pink, of course. Pink in hues from pale pastel to bubble gum, from raspberry to rose. And she's quite emphatic that it ought to be the only color allowed in her wardrobe, to boot.

A month ago, she decreed that she would be a princess for Halloween this year. A pink princess -- the sparklier, the better. I resisted at first, but grudgingly gave in.

Until we started planning her costume. A trip to a nearby resale shop netted us a white lacy dress with a poufy skirt and a pink feathery crown and wand, for mere pennies. It was on to the fabric store next, then time for the pink Rit dye, the ribbon trim around collars, more crystal beads, another skirt layer, a ribbony trail or two of sequins, and some tulle swathed around the middle.

Zoe is in love with this dress already -- wants to sleep next to "Saralina" as she drip-dries from the dye bath in the bathroom, wants to wear her around the house, has told everyone she can think of about her costume.

And I am in love with the creation itself. It's the perfect princess dress, it is the thing that little girls who love pink will remember all their lives.

And in its frothy layers is a lesson for me: mothers who love their children will remember that it's far wiser in the long run to look at them with a clear-eyed view of who they are, and not who we hope they will be, even if it means embracing pink.

Thankfully, it's clear my daughter will not be one of those stereotypical prissy princess types. When she said she needed "really good shoes" to wear with the dress, I asked her what that meant, fearing the worst. I needn't have worried. My high spirited daughter replied: "Really good jumping shoes!"

You go, Princess Zoe.

My morning off

By Beth

My husband is a stay-at-home dad. I work a second shift job from home. So, while most people have their evenings off to lounge around and watch "Wifeswap," or to enjoy some quiet time together after baby has gone to bed, we have all of our free time in the mornings. Since Beckett is awake and fully with us during all of our free time, my husband and I have set up a schedule so that we each get a full morning off, with no baby care responsibilities.

This is supposed to be time when I can do whatever I want to do. Want to watch four hours of Tivoed "Sopranos" reruns? Go for it! Want to sleep in for an extra two hours? Snooze away! Want to go catch an early matinee, and eat popcorn? Fantastic!

But do you know what I do on my scheduled mornings off? I shop for Beckett, or schedule a doctor's appointment. I clean the bathroom or rake the leaves in the front yard. I can't seem to get into lounge mode when it's ten o'clock in the morning. And when my morning off is over, I feel cheated. I feel like I'm not having any fun. I feel like I have this incredible opportunity to do something wonderful for myself once a week, but when that time comes around, I just freeze up.

If you had a morning off, and could do anything you wanted, what would YOU do? Maybe your ideas will inspire me to put down the toilet brush, and do something for myself.

Every day is Halloween

By Anne-Marie

Having grown up in post-WW II France, my mother thought Halloween was a crazy American ritual, believing trick or treaters were extortionist begging for candy. Still she participated in the holiday with gusto, decorating pumpkins and dressing up us kids.

By the time I was in grade school, my mother helped me create Halloween costumes that reflected my interests. I was passionate about all things Native American, so she hand-sewed a Pocahontas-style dress that I decorated with glued-on beads. In junior high, I fell in love with ancient Egypt, so we put together a Cleopatra costume, complete with bed sheet toga, funky jewelry, and an old wig of hers that she dyed black and cut into Elizabeth Taylor-style bangs.

However, I stopped participating in Halloween once I entered high school. What was the point? Since I was in my punk rock/new romantic phase, I was always dressing up, whether it was spiky hairdos or full Adam Ant war paint. Later on, when I got into the rockabilly scene, I wore vintage '40s and '50s clothing daily, and hunted for the best outfits on eBay and in antique shops.

By the time Nathan was born, I had put away my vintage duds since most of them didn't fit and couldn't take the constant cleaning. So I was looking forward to putting aside my boring-but-functional mommy clothes and dressing up again. For his first Halloween, we donned Star Trek outfits, Nathan a convincing mini-Captain Picard and me as his first mate.

When Nathan was two, he loved watching Iron Chef, the Japanese cooking show on Food Network. Months before Halloween I searched all over for a child-sized chef's jacket and hat to transform him into Iron Chef America. I found a child's chef jacket on eBay and a small chef's hat at a local toy store, and decorated both with U.S. flag patches and ribbons. Since I was posing as Nathan's sous chef, I wore matching gear.

Now I find myself planning costumes months or even years in advance. Last year Nathan dressed up in a charming '50s cowboy outfit I bought when I was pregnant with him. This year he's going to be a cowboy again, this time in leather chaps and matching vest purchased a couple of years ago. Lucie is going to be Minnie Mouse in a dress I got last spring at a consignment shop.

But this year, I'm not dressing up. Now that my kids are not puking up on me regularly, I've put aside my mommy clothes and have gone back to wearing my rockabilly gear. Once again, for me, every day is Halloween, whether I have on a vintage Hawaiian shirt or I'm searching the thrift store racks for next year's perfect costume.

On the go

By Elizabeth D.

It seems that since my 23-month-old daughter was born, I have been "on the go." My choice of diaper bag was a backpack, for ease of use and speed when going places. My choice of buggy was swank and comfortable for baby, just perfect for long days out.

After meeting my, now very good, friends at the mum and baby group at the local health centre I was unstoppable. Over to Sarah's for a BBQ while Mary Catherine and Patrick frolicked in nappies in her garden. Over to Adrienne's for dinner while Mary Catherine and Olivia played in their spacious apartment. Over to Duaa's for a walk around the local city farm and then back to hers for juice and fruit while Mary Catherine and Ihsan played in their living room. Over to Katie's for a nice supper of bowtie pasta complimented by good conversation. I could go on and on.

I love hanging out with our friends. It's so special to be around people with children the same age as mine. It's strangely soothing to bring up a trouble or other toddler weirdness and know that someone else not only knows exactly what I'm talking about but usually has a helpful solution.

I am so used to being on the go; except this past Sunday. How weird it felt to not have any plans. No BBQs, no outings, no shopping, no restaurants, no buggy or car seat required. We stayed in.

We stayed in our PJs all day; we baked fairy cakes and ate every single one. Andrew, Mary Catherine and I did puzzles, we watched "Mary Poppins," we drank milk and coloured on blank paper, making art of the highest quality. We sang, did laundry and wrestled. We never even unlocked the front door.

When we woke on Monday morning, life was back to normal. I know that we will still rush here and there, after all the Christmas season is almost upon us. We will go back to hurrying up to enjoy all the toddler-friendly activities we can find.

However, we will definitely have another lazy Sunday again very soon as it was a fantastic way to unwind and reconnect with each other. For once, we were "on the stop."

There's no place like home!

By LauriJon

My memories of Halloween as a child consist of Trick or Treating in elevator buildings in New York City. Walking dressed as a black cat (black leotards and stockings, little ears and a tail) to attend school during a teacher strike at a classmate's apartment. Of crisp, breezy, leaf-swept, darkened suburban East Quogue sidewalks, coat obscuring my costume, my hand frozen tightly around the plastic pumpkin handle ferrying my candy.

I loved Halloween as a child -- missed it as a way-too-cool-to-dress-up teen. But now, as an adult, (and I use that term loosely) I enjoy it fervently.

Even when my husband and I were first dating, I'd fly from Florida to New York to do the Greenwich Village Halloween Parade with him. Naturally we'd wear coordinating costumes. Our first parade Bill went as Kirk from the original Star Trek and I was a Yeoman (yes, with working phasers and tricorders). The next year we went as wizards, followed by (my favorite) Batman and Catwoman from the '60s campy TV series. And our fourth year we did wizards again. Each year we'd have a blast and pose for pictures with other Halloween partiers.

Last year, however, we didn't do the parade as I was due October 29th (and already two days late). We did venture out of our West Village apartment (crowded as it was with all the parade revelers) and mill around a bit before heading to my favorite restaurant -- Garage. While Bill donned the shirt from his Kirk costume, I put on a form-fitting black lycra top and pants and sprouted electric blue butterfly wings.

Yet out of all the Halloweens, this is the one I'm looking forward to most, as it's the first year we'll celebrate Halloween as a family of three.

I thought long and hard, perused all the children's catalogs two months ago for just the right costumes. Clicked the heels of the size 4 Ruby slippers together three times and came up with -- OZ. Eleven-month-old Maricella will be our darling Dorothy, sporting a blue gingham dress, ruby red slippers, bow in her ever increasing head of hair, with a stuffed Toto in a basket. Mommy, ah, I mean Glinda will be pushing the stroller with daddy, ah, Scarecrow at her side.

We'll probably do the children's parade in Washington Square Park in lieu of the night parade, as "Dorothy" is usually in bed by 7:30 p.m.

I hope, over the years, that Maricella enjoys Halloween as much as her father and I do -- that we're able to make Halloween a magical night whether Trick or Treating with her or hosting Halloween parties. That we give her one more reason to say, even well into her skeptical, all-too-sophisticated teen years: There's no place like home!

The kindness of strangers

By Elizabeth L-B

Grocery shopping with children gives total strangers the opportunity to observe your parenting skills. And, face it, we're rarely at our best by the time we reach the checkout lane.

Take one part boredom (for the kids), one part distraction (for the parents), several parts temptation, a shake of hunger and a pinch of fatigue, and the result is often ugly.

My boys aren't old enough to entertain themselves for any period of time with a notebook (although I'm saving the idea for later), and Nicholas is at the squirmy stage where I really need to keep a hand on the cart at all times to make sure that he doesn't tip it over in his attempt to climb out.

Thus, I'm always grateful when the people around me respond with sympathy and kindness, rather than irritation and judgment. A few moments stand out in my mind with particular vividness:

* The man who looked at my son lying on the floor sobbing with outrage (because we wouldn't allow him to ride inside the main compartment of the cart) and asked in a calm pleasant voice, "Are we very two today?" It helped me to be reminded that we were not the first family to face a child sprawled in aisle 4, and it surprised Daniel enough that he got up.

* The woman who engaged Daniel in conversation while I unloaded the groceries, distracting him from grabbing candy, climbing the display racks, or just wandering off. (In spite of the claims that I've heard for so many years, I don't appear to have been issued a pair of eyes for the back of my head in the maternity ward.) This shouldn't be memorable, given how little effort it involves, but I can only think of the one time it happened.

* The woman who chased me down on the other side of the parking lot when I had left my credit card on the counter, caught up in the struggle of getting groceries and two small children all moving in the same direction.

Unfortunately, another instance of kindness was memorable for how stupid it was, even if well–intentioned. With my son dissolving into hysterics because I refused to buy him a $4.99 balloon, the woman behind me offered -- to Daniel -- to buy it for him. Excuse me, ma'am, but are you really enjoying this performance so much that you want to encourage him to repeat it every time I tell him he can't have something? What are you thinking?

The right and wrong way

By Emily

Different parenting styles are a sure-fire way to cause disagreements between friends. Views on the right and wrong way vary greatly. A friend of mine thinks my son Seth is a whiner. I think her little girl is a bully. The difference between us, though, is I don't tell her what I think.

I have been around a lot of different children in my life. Some I liked, others I didn't. But I have never felt at liberty to tell a parent where I thought her child was lacking. I was never that brave.

Would you tell a parent what you thought her child's weaknesses were?

White noise and distortion

By Kelly

Having an 11 year spread between my two children is becoming more challenging every day. I find myself having to switch gears every three or four minutes, chasing a screaming toddler while looking for one more new thing to distract her with, because distraction is the only thing that works with a toddler. Meanwhile, Tyler shouts at me over his blasting Green Day, "Mom? Why do they call The Pope, The Pope?"

If I'm lucky, I'll find a few minutes to jump online to let Google answer that question for us. Most of the time I wind up handing him a board book and saying in a sweet, sotto voice, "Here, look at this one. See the bunny? She’s smiling at you," while Lila escapes and dumps the bucket of flour on the kitchen floor.

Tyler spends a lot of time rolling his eyes at me and calling me crazy.

My pulse rate is always high because of the audio stimulation that never ends. He's always got his music cranked, she's always yelling at me in Swahili.

Restful naps at home are non-existent because we spend so much time schlepping in the car. Lunch is often on the fly. Lila's the tag-along for all of Tyler's activities. Some she's welcome at, but others exclude young children so we wait for him in the car unless there's a park nearby.

I read so much about how important rhythm is to maintaining a healthy and happy family. When I try to hear what our rhythm is, I hear cacophony. Punk with a little acid jazz, dubbed over an endless loop of Godsmack.

The art of patience

by andrea

As I reflect back on 5.5 years of co-parenting two children, I realize that some of our worst moments have been when we're waiting somewhere.

Let's face it. It's during times like thess that parenting is really just about coping. Be it in a bank, in a restaurant, the dusty warehouse of IKEA -- anywhere -- these places have been the scene of meltdowns (for the children) and breakdowns (for me).

It's no wonder. The girls get bored and squirmy and in a preschoolish attempt to amuse themselves they start finding things to do that don't align with my idea of how they should be behaving at that particular moment. I just want them to stand still, quietly, and wait! I know, I know, it's an impossible request. The only time they are still is when they're sleeping.

It took me a few years to get clued in, but we discovered that it's best to keep them occupied and prevent the craziness before it happens. If you find yourself waiting in line at the grocery store, and there is a baker's dozen of people ahead of you, the right activity will not only keep your children happy, it will save your sanity. (Giving them as-yet-unpaid-for bagels keeps them quiet because their mouths are full, but I'm fairly certain the sudden intake of carbs just feeds the fire in their fiendish little hearts.)

The trick is to find the right way to keep your particular tyke occupied.

These past few weeks, playing "I Spy" in the grocery store has done the trick for us. You know: "I spy with my little eye, something that is [insert colour of nearby object]. This keeps them busy for at least 20 minutes. I am pleased to report that so far no one has picked anything to embarrassing to "spy" about the people waiting in line next to us (i.e. the man's red nose, the brown mole on that lady's chin, or the green tattoo of a skull on that guy's bicep). For this I am thankful.

But the other day I made an 89 cent purchase which I believe has been the smartest money I ever spent on my children. I predict it will eradicate future displays of impatience. I bought Emma a spiral-bound notebook. It's red. We printed out her name, and she coloured it in and glued it on the inside front cover. Oh, she's so proud!

The main attraction here is that her new book is a larger version of the notebook I always carry with me for when the next brilliant idea strikes. That, and the fact that she also has a red pencil with an eraser on top and it fits perfectly down into the spiral.

She has pledged to carry it everywhere, and so far, she has. She loves to sit and copy words from magazines. (I realized I may need to censor what she copies when she wrote the word POSER. Questions ensued: "Mummy, what's a POSER?") It's amazing to watch her sit and concentrate. She loves it, and as an added bonus she's getting extra writing practice.

It's only been a couple of weeks since the notebook came into our lives, but I am predicting less pain the next time we're at a restaurant, waiting patiently for our bill to arrive.