The Texas air has cooled and crispened; I can wear my (normally dreadful) long sleeves unabashedly, and my plants are dying; God, I couldnāt be happier.Ā
Though, it’s important to note that while this season brings out the best in me, I canāt help but feel like something’s missing this time around. This time last year, my sewing machine was begging for mercy, and my kitchen was faux cobwebbed and spidered to the nines. Now, Iām digging through my closet, making a half-assed attempt at a Halloween costume that says āIām tired, just tell me I look nice, would you?ā
Iām Working Late, āCause Iām a Singer
Get it? Like SingerTM sewing machines? My sewing machine is actually a Brother CE-4000 though, soā¦
By far, my fondest Halloween memories are the nights my mom and I stayed up into the deepest hours of the night to construct elaborate costumes in our kitchen for days on end.Ā
I miss the excitement of brainstorming ideas for what would really wow my fellow 8 year olds; maybe a zombie nurse with a skeleton patient, maybe those 25Ā¢ scam fortune teller machines, maybe Flo from the Progressive insurance commercials.Ā
I miss scouring the house for scrap materials to fashion into something unrecognizable; my toy stroller could be covered with an old pillowcase and fake blood to wheelchair my skeleton around, we could paint and glitter up an old box my dad was gonna throw out for my fortune tellers box, or maybe moms nursing scrubs would make a great Flo apron with the right alterations.Ā
(If youāre reading this, Mom, Iām still sorry for sacrificing your literal work uniform. But cāmon, it was all for a good cause, so hope you understand and I thank you for your service.)
Young, Scrappy, and Hungry
Turns out “scrappy” was a lot easier when the scraps were free. As a kid, my materials budget consisted of whatever my very handy and crafty dad could get his hands on. Now, I’m standing in the fabric store, doing math on how much a yard of tulle costs, not sure I can justify it for a single night. Itās times like these when I mourn the loss of my dearly departed Jo-Annās Fabrics.Ā
Hungry is literal, too. Some years, the costume budget and the grocery budget are in fierce competition. And no, youāre not allowed to judge me for seriously weighing out both options; ’tis the season, for God’s sake.
For the record, groceries winā¦Except last year when I larped veganism and didnāt buy eggs, milk, or meat for a little while to make room for a nice pair of boots. Worth it.Ā
Then there’s time. Halloween used to span days over the kitchen table, but now it’s 2 a.m. and my apartment floor is covered by an uneven half-pinned skirt, a dirty uniform that I need washed by the morning, and a stack of readings all taking turns at being the thing I’m failing at. All the while, a very enticing website that rhymes with bamazon.com is seducing me towards it. Halloween is still grand as ever, only now Iām paying for it in time and money I simply donāt have.Ā
Hot Glue and HindsightĀ
Most of all, I miss getting upset at my mom for accidentally burning me with hot glue, and the comfort sheād give me after each time. I used to wish the whole ordeal would just be over with, but now I wish I could remember the last time she held an ice pack to a burn or a cotton ball to a needle prick.Ā
I miss hearing my dad walk in with some new product that might add the finishing touch to our projects. It seems like just yesterday when battery-powered string lights seemed revolutionary, and my dad had gone through the trouble of meticulously attaching each little bulb onto some cardboard just for me. I used to want to skip through his endless tutorials on how to seamlessly build everything under the sun, but now I get to call him to show off after using a drill without ripping out the drywall for the first time.
No one knows when the last time you and a parent will do something together, and every seam I stitch for myself, every string light I hang, and every moment before heading out the door is now followed by the wish I had their second opinion on how it all turned out.