Woman's Day
In Search of Cinderella
Gone Are the Days When My Kids Looked Cute on Halloween
By Louise Tutelian
It’s a few days before Halloween and my 11-year-old daughter presents herself to me. “How do I look?” she asks, striking a pouty pose, one hand on hip. I look. Instead of the princesses of years past, I see an outfit that used to belong on someone who would tactfully be called a lady of the evening. Where have you gone, Cinderella?
When my three kids were very little, it was like a children’s fairy tale in our house: ballerinas, queens, knights in not-so-shining armor, as well as the requisite Disney characters. As the children got to be 7, 8 and 9, we broke out the hippie beads, gypsy hoop earrings, and cowboy and Indian outfits. Not quite as charming, but still pretty darned adorable.
I have to say, though, as the kids hit 11, 12 and 13, it’s a whole different scene around here. Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s them. Maybe it’s the fact that we now wage war weekly over their wardrobes, and a working mother has to pick her battles. But when it comes to Halloween these days, they’re looking a lot less cute. And I’m ready to say yes to just about anything. The 13-year-old wants to be Erin Brockovich? Well, gee, I say to myself, she is a terrific role model and I’m sure we can find a bustier that fits somewhere. After all, I rationalize, this look—turning tricks for trick-or-treat—really isn’t so different from the outfits that many of her classmates are wearing to school every day. The outfits that, so far, I refuse to let her wear out of the house. I figure that by giving in on this one night, I buy myself some maneuvering room the rest of the year. I mean, it’s just a costume, right? Right?
And my son, the skateboard fanatic, who once paraded around as a pint-sized baseball player? He wants to be the Skateboarder from Hell, complete with ashen pallor and copious blood. I’m letting him. And his other sister, who once donned the sweetest costumes of all—a pink lamb suit with satin ears, Glinda the Good Witch tulle—she’ll be the Devil Valley Girl. She’s got it all figured out. She’s borrowing an aqua leather miniskirt from our babysitter which she’ll pair with a tank top, also on loan, that spells out “Spoiled” in rhinestones across the chest. She’s assembled mascara, blue eye shadow and pink pearly lipstick to complete the look. And when she’s finished strutting her stuff on the streets of our suburban neighborhood, the gear will get returned and hopefully, I’ll have won a reprieve from tank-top battles for a while.
I’m not sure how this wholesale shift in Halloween has occurred. I’m sure it has to do with kids getting older, the culture getting sleazier and the parents getting, well…is lazier too strong a word? I prefer to think I’m merely lightening up. Last year I dressed up as a witch with killer makeup. I’d had a minor surgical procedure three days before Halloween, a distinct advantage in this case. I greeted the trick-or-treaters blatantly banged up; a few blue and purple bruises and stitches over one eye. It was a hoot.
My parental conscience is getting to me, though. So this year, I’m taking the high road. My costume is a pair of well-tailored Ann Taylor slacks and a simple, yet chic sweater set. I’ve decided to dress up as a mom with good taste. Someone has to uphold the standards in this family.