It's almost Halloween, kind of like how by Halloween it will be almost Christmas. The months of September and the first half of October are for celebrating Halloween, while the second half of October through mid December are for Christmas plans and activities. By mid December, you should probably be dyeing Easter eggs.
This is the way Laylee lives her life, in a constant state of countdown and it's rubbing off on me a little. We spent the weekend at a cousin's wedding and for the first time I did not look at the bride and plan my own wedding or look back on my glorious day of union to Dan. Instead I noticed that the beautiful bride was only five times as old as Laylee. I am possibly one-fifth of the way finished raising Laylee and it scares the hidey-hookey out of me. I must treasure every moment with her and never never begrudge her the freedom to choose her own Halloween attire.
She fell in love with Dorothy shoes at Target because, who wouldn't? They're sparkly and shimmery and red and covered in sparkles and when the light catches them, they SHINE all dark pinkish and beautiful and they're sparkly. She needed them. She lurved them. She had to have them. "They would be great church shoes," she said.
I told her she couldn't go to church dressed as a disco ball. However, if she wanted to be Dorothy for Halloween, I would buy them. I'm still trying to get over the year I made the most gorgeous Dorothy costume only to discover that no one made ruby slippers in my size and so I had to settle for some cheesy red sequined stretch slippers that didn't remotely resemble rubies. If I got her the shoes, I could carry on the proud tradition of living vicariously through one's offspring. It would be great.
Her eyes began to swirl around in her head as a spacey grin crept across her face. She clutched the shoes to her bosom and mumbled something that could be roughly translated as, "Doro-whatever. I'm getting the footwear of my dreams!"
For days we talked about this mysterious Dorothy person. Laylee's never seen The Wizard of Oz so she really didn't know or care who we were discussing...until a couple of days ago when she was playing dress up. Her Ariel dress is so lovely, you see, and who the heck is Dorothy anyway. As far as Laylee is concerned, all Dorothy ever did was snag some uber-cool shoes.
So she hatched a plot.
"I know what I want to be for Halloween."
"Well, I want to be Dorothy on the feet and Ariel on the top."
I thought about this for a minute. If I let her go as a hybrid, she will look weird, no one will compliment me on the amazing costume, old ladies everywhere will ask, "What are you supposed to be honey?", Laylee will be thrilled with her own creative genius, and I won't have to make the dang Dorothy dress. SOLD!
So now we head out as pioneers on a new Halloween experiment in strangeness and the whole family couldn't be happier. Do you think it would be too twisted if I penciled in a line of gore around her ankles to indicate where the foot transplant had taken place? It is Halloween after all.