Why I Hate Halloween Costumes

I love candy. Always have, always will and I have the extensive relationship with the entire staff of my dentist’s office to prove it. I even owned a candy company for several years, which afforded Mrs. Dude and me the opportunity to attend the International Candy Convention several times, which nearly sent me into a diabetic coma and I don’t even have diabetes. Needless to say, there’s a lot I’d do for candy, but there’s one thing I absolutely won’t: dress up for Halloween.

When I was a kid in the 1980s, I used to get packaged Halloween costumes that came in one of those boxes with the cellophane window to check out the mask you’d inevitably almost suffocate in during the quest for another Baby Ruth. Having worn glasses since I was 3 added another level of discomfort to that soft plastic face cover held in place on the wearer’s head by a tourniquet-tight elastic band stapled to both sides. Beyond that, I was raised in the Midwest so my mother-mandated heavy winter coat further compromised my attempt to look like a superhero and made me into more of a supergeek. Thankfully most of the other local kids were equally unlucky and geeky at the same time.  

Needless to say those costumes discomfort and general awkwardness was a nuisance and as soon as I was capable, I figured out a way to reach my objective (pillowcase overflowing with mini Snickers bars) without not only avoiding one of those lame boxed costumes, but really any costume at all. I’d simply throw on a baseball hat and become a member of the Cleveland Indians. Another year October 31^st wasn’t quite as cold, so I wore my regular clothes and went as a “student”. Creative, right? Thankfully there were no minimum requirements for costume qualifications, but had there been so, I would have skated by, like the “ice skater” I dressed as another year with my parka, gloves and wool hat costume.

I'm pretty sure I had this GI Joe costume, complete with the trashbag quality bodysuit.

Ever since, and especially since becoming an adult, I’ve been baffled by adults who not only dress up for Halloween, but go all out to do so. When I first moved to Los Angeles, I lived in an area called West Hollywood, which holds a massive Halloween extravaganza every year. After attending during my first couple years in town, and seeing an inordinate amount of costumes which can’t be described in a family blog among the impossible-to-cross swarm of people, I had no need to ever do so again.

So now that my boys are 3 & almost-6 and super into Halloween, they asked me to dress up with them this year. They both chose to be Darth Vader this year after having spotted the costumes a couple months back during a trip to Costco, shortly after their first viewing of Star Wars. Though costumes have come a long way since the old cellophane-box days, there’s still no chance I’d wear an official costume. Instead, I think I’ll complement their costumes by dressing as intergalactic smuggler Han Solo. After all, he wore relatively normal clothes, and more importantly he was a smuggler, which will be useful when I pilfer the mini Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups from their Halloween bounty without them knowing. And when the calendar flips to the 1^st of November later that night, we can all rest our heads comfortably knowing that we did what we had to do to reach our objective, a handful of sweet treats and, for me, another year without a silly costume.

My Junior Vaders prepping for their big night out. I'll wash my jeans to do the same.

My Motherless Mother's Day Paradox

When I was younger (i.e. before I had kids) I used to celebrate New Year’s Eve by going out to parties, dinners and other festivities. Now Mrs. Dude and I stay in, make our traditional Appetizer Dinner, and usually fall asleep before the ball drops.

When I was even younger than that, Halloween was always a chilly Midwestern night spent running around the neighborhood with friends, dressed crazily and on the hunt for a slew of candy. These days I spend October 31^st chasing down my 2 Junior Dudes, trying to get that one elusive snapshot featuring both of them actually smiling and looking at the camera while dressed in their costumes. I still try to get a slew of candy, though now it’s under the auspices of being for the kids.

The way we celebrate events and milestones evolves over the course of our lives. Things that seemed extremely important then (like having a Valentine) are not nearly as important as I realize that others are now (understanding why Martin Luther King Day is not just a random day-off).  There are also some days that we don’t realize the importance of until after the fact.

This year, for the 6^th year in a row, I’ll honor Mrs. Dude on Mother’s Day. The first year was merely symbolic, since she was just completing the first trimester with the Little Dude in her belly, but the last 4, plus this year, are the real deal.

Also this year, for the 4^th year in a row, I’ll remember my own Mother who is now infinitely farther away than she was on the phone calls I made to her over the previous 11 second Sundays in May while living 3,000 miles away from her.

This maternal dichotomy has turned Mother’s Day into a bittersweet time for me. I couldn’t be more proud of my wife for the amazing job she does day after day caring for and nurturing our two spirited young sons. But I also couldn’t miss my own mother more than I do on this day, for some reason more than on others.

There are myriad annual events which might be considered more important or seem more significant like birthdays, anniversaries or even the date of her death. But for some reason Mother’s Day now always feels like a bucket of ice-cold water to the face for me. Maybe it’s the regret of not spending more of these holidays actually visiting her or it could just be further reinforcement of the finality of her passing.

Just as I felt like an outsider while growing up Jewish during Christmas season, silently dreaming of the grass being greener in the other Testament, now for some reason I have a hard time shaking the emptiness that is inherent this time of year.  Again, this is not a knock on my own wife who will be celebrated from start to finish that day because she has earned and deserves it. But these women who sacrifice literally everything for their children & families should be remembered not only on a random Sunday, but every day. These incredible parental legacies must live on, whether they are around the corner or on the other side of fate.

Maybe the most important thing I can hope is that just as my Mother used to wait up for me to come home around midnight when I was a teen to make sure I was home safely and securely, that she is still watching out for, or over, me to make sure that things are OK on my side. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest to know she’s looking for assurance that I’m happy, which I usually am, or that my family is thriving, which we seem to be.

What I now know is that even though I only got 35 Mother’s Days with my Mother, which was more than some people get and less than others, those were the best possible gifts for her and for me. Now I must teach my boys to make the most of their own Mother’s Days, because no matter how many they get it might not be enough to fully honor the most special person in their lives: their Mother. 

Happy Mother's Day to you and yours. 

The two finest mothers I could ever imagine:
 Mine (L) & Mrs. Dude (R)
10-month-old Little Dude (C)

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Hey, I'm all about Instagram these days.Come hang with me there: @DudeOfTheHouse

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The Evolution of Halloween

Last week marked the fourth Halloween that Mrs. Dude and I spent with our Little Dude, even though he’s only 2 years old.  And each October 31^st has been a tremendous marker of change for our little family.

On our first Halloween together after we’d started dating,in 2003, Mrs. Dude and I went to a big party at a well known L.A. location. (No, it wasn’t the Playboy Mansion. Unfortunately.) Our relationship was still new and we had a lot to figure out, which we did over the next few years. Fast forward six years to 2009 when we found ourselves back at that same exact location on October 31st for a very different type of event and in a very different situation.

The Little Dude’sFirst Halloween (2009):  

Costume: Uterus

Halloween is often filled with scary moments and unexpected twists and turns. We were hoping for the opposite in 2009. Mrs. Dude was 38 weeks pregnant on Halloween when friends of ours were getting married. Thanks to a presumed-very-large breech baby we had a C-Section scheduled for one week later, but sometimes babies make different plans. I was somewhat nervous as we drove to the wedding and hoped that we would have more treats than tricks that night.

Though there were definitely some spooky elements, we made it through the night unscathed and exactly one week after Halloween, the Little Dude arrived.

Second Halloween (2010):

Costume: Giraffe

We had just moved a few days before and couldn’t find the Little Dude’s costume, but through a mysterious source everything inexplicably turned up right when we needed it.  We carb-loaded beforehand with my family’s traditional Halloween dinner of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, which was the Little Dude’s first time eating that delectable treat. That’s noteworthy for starting a streak of eating it every night for over a year.  Yes, he’s definitely my kid.  

Just a week shy of his first birthday the Little Dude hadn’t started walking yet, and wouldn’t for another 5 months,  so I was tasked with schlepping him from house to house.  It was worth it, as he was mesmerized by the lights and decorations we encountered going house to house.And because he earned several full-size Snickers bars along the way.  Fortunately for me his vocabulary wasn’t very developed at that time, so I assume he wanted me to enjoy them all on his behalf.

Third Halloween (2011):

Costume: Blue Monster

Two days before Halloween, the Little Dude caught the first fever he’d ever had. I was nervous that he wouldn’t be able to go out begging that night. And since he’d been walking for 6 months, I was looking forward to not carrying  him around our hilly neighborhood.  The day of truth was upon us and his fever had subsided. Even though he probably wasn’t 100% it was all systems go.  Obviously Mac & Cheese was a prerequisite for good energy and we brought the stroller with us just to be safe.  

It was a hot humid night and after about 10 minutes, the Little Dude ran out of steam. I figured we’d head home, but he wanted to keep going. Just not to keep walking. Somehow, just like the year before, I ended up carrying him door to door for most of the night. He got spooked at one house where the monsters (aka dumb teenage kids) jumped out of the dark to scare us,but beyond that had fun. And I got a full-size Twix for my efforts.

Fourth Halloween (2012):

Costume: Dragon

This was going to be my year. No more carrying the Little Dude!  He’s amazing, but also 40 pounds. Time to let his legs earn their keep. He had a friend come over who had never been Trick or Treating before. They ran house to house and the boy’s father and I tried to keep up. After a bit, they both ran out of gas and, not surprisingly, wanted to be carried. But the excitement and pure joy in their faces made it all worthwhile.  And this year the 5 ½ week old Littler Dude experienced his first Halloween, though he likely won’t remember it since he was passed out in the stroller all night.

So that’s how my 2 year old experienced 4 Halloweens in 3 years. He loved the experience and after double-fisting Tootsie Pops that night when we got home, he forgot about the bag he’d collected and moved on with his life. As for me, I can hardly wait until next year, though I’m not sure how we’ll juggle two boys that night. I guess I’ll need to have an extra scoop of Mac& Cheese to prepare.

How was your Halloween? What was the best costume you saw?

Rockin' Friday: Halloween Redux

It's almost time for Halloween and thankfully this year I (hopefully) won't have to carry the Little Dude nearly as much as in the two years prior. One thing that I know we will do is listen to his favorite Halloween song.

It was actually the song I chose for my very first Rockin' Friday feature way back in March. At the time, I asked myself what I would do at Halloween time, since it's quite an appropriate tune for the season. So since I'm sleep deprived with a 1-month-old baby, I know you'll understand re-posting the link for you to check out.  It's also worth checking out so you can learn why I hate kids' music so much.

What's your favorite Halloween-esque song?

Dude vs Carnival

Yesterday morning, shortly after sleeping for just a few hours split between a bed and an airplane (after returning from HERE), I was tasked with one of my biggest challenges in my 2+ years as a parent: taking the Little Dude to a Purim Carnival while my wife attended a wedding shower.  Chasing an eager toddler around this type of sensory-overload event is exhausting enough on normal rest. While operating solely on Diet Mountain Dew and donuts, I felt like Arnold Schwarzenegger on Father's Day: so much ground to cover and not sure where to begin. 

If you are unfamiliar with Purim, it’s sort of like a Jewish Halloween.  For example, both involve kids getting dressed up in costumes. Halloween involves kids being loaded down with voluminous amounts of chocolate and sugary treats.  Purim features some amazing triangle-shaped cookies called Hamentashen, which usually contain a sweet fruit filling in the middle.  Of course, the prune-filled Hamentashen is the Jewish equivalent of the box of raisins given out by your neighborhood’s old lady on Halloween. 

In the car, I asked the Little Dude if he knew what a carnival was and he responded with “I like carnivals”.  A phrase he repeated 97 times in the next 30 minutes, like when Dustin Hoffman’s Rain Man repeats the radio ad for “97X – BAM – the future of rock and roll” over and over to his brother Tom Cruise while they are driving cross country.   

When we arrived and saw the brightly colored tents and giant rides, the Little Dude’s eyes grew as wide as the Ferris Wheel I had no intention of taking him on.  We ran into some friends, whose daughter was wearing a Princess costume.  If anyone asked, the Little Dude’s tie-dye shirt qualified him to be a Deadhead.

Our first stop was at the gouging station, aka the little booth where they sell tickets.  I debated how many to get and went with 25 for $20. I figured that if he chose not to ride or play anything, which wouldn’t have surprised me given his finicky nature, at least I could use them to get some grilled Hebrew National hot dogs (spoiler alert: I later did).

In an effort to start unloading the tickets I’d just purchased, we headed over to the one station I knew he would love: the pony rides. As we waited in line, the Little Dude stood on his tiptoes to check out the horses and the kids riding them.  As we moved up the line, we just missed the cut and were the last ones shut out on that round. So we stood and watched another batch of kids revolving atop the eternally sad looking mini-equines.  The Little Dude picked out which one he wanted to ride and after a few minutes I handed over the tickets and we went over to the biggest horse there.  There was only one problem: he wouldn’t get on.  I kept trying to lift him up and he did that classic toddler move utilized when they don’t want to do something: the dead-weight flop.  After a couple minutes I got him to pet the horse, thinking that might spark his interest in riding, but that was as close as he got.  The Yosemite Sam-looking guy working refunded the tickets and we went to look for other ways to spend all 25 of them. 

Not sure if my hand was still intact at this point.

There was a giant bumpy slide adjacent to the horses, but I figured there was no way he would go up the roughly 75 feet of stairs when he wouldn’t even get on the horse. Unfortunately, I was wrong. Double unfortunately, he was too small to go alone.  As I carried him up a steep and narrow metal staircase, I waited for him to change his mind like with the horse but he never did.  As we careened down the slippery slope, I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my hand. When we landed at the bottom I noticed that my hand was bleeding profusely. I must have bumped into the barrier wall on our way down and left a chunk of skin for future passengers.  I suppose that could be a prize for one of the few who didn't win a goldfish that day.

So we went to look for the First Aid station, as my Diaper Dude bag was lacking in un-Dudely Band Aids. We walked into the tent and the doctor looked down at the Little Dude and asked him “Did you get a boo-boo?” To which I replied “no, but I did.” She cleaned me up and we went on a few more rides, including an epic car ride that not only caused whiplash as it ripped around each corner, but that caused half the contents to fly out of the diaper bag, including the Little Dude’s sippy cup filled with water.  At least I still had some extra tickets to get him a bottle of water and myself the aforementioned jumbo hot dog in my attempt to cure hunger, whiplash, sleep deprivation and jet lag in one nitrate-heavy fell swoop.

The afternoon with my Little Dude was worth every penny of that $20 and I can’t wait to do it again next year. Until then, I’ll have the scar on my hand as a reminder of the fun we shared, to go along with a case of Post Purim Depression now that the celebration is over. 

Little Dude riding a psychedelic Caterpillar. 

 

Small World? Yeah Right

A friend recently gave us tickets to take BC to Disneyland for the first time.  My wife had been very excited about his first time and wanted to make it special. As a SoCal native, going to Disneyland was an almost-annual rite of passage to her while growing up.  This trip would mark my third time there over the course of more than 3 decades.  I was happy to go, but I was more excited to not have to blow $200 just to walk in the front gate. 

The tickets we received were for a special Halloween event at the park.  I wouldn’t realize how fortuitous that was until later, though. But before we got to the good stuff there was a long road ahead.  Our tickets didn’t allow us to enter prior to 3:00pm, and the festivities began at 6:00pm. The catch was that BC usually naps in the afternoon from roughly 2:00-5:00pm.  We faced an interesting conundrum. If we waited until after his nap to leave our house we wouldn’t arrive at the Magic Kingdom until at least 7:00pm, which wouldn’t leave much time for the park.  But if we didn’t give BC a chance to nap, it was possible he might turn into Regan from The Exorcist.  

We took a leap of faith and left the house during what would have been BC’s naptime, hoping he would sleep during the 60 mile drive. He was about to fall asleep after 15 minutes when some putz cut us off, forcing me to slam on the brakes, which jolted BC back to life like Elmo on Meth.  Sigh. I had a feeling it was going to be a long day.  He finally fell asleep for the last half hour before we arrived in Anaheim.

When we parked and got out of the car, we were in an unfamiliar place.  And I don’t mean the parking garage the size of New Hampshire.  BC had taken the short road to Crankyville. Uh oh.  Would that short nap end up biting us in the Goofy? Only time would tell. 

Time spoke quickly. When we got on the tram to the park there was one child who stood out among all the kids on the train, screaming his brains out. Yup, my kid was “That Kid”.  I was put in an unfamiliar situation  because I’m usually the first person to give That Kid’s parents dirty looks while they scream in a restaurant or mall.  There was only one thing I could do in this scenario. Pull down my hat and hide. And try to spot another “That Kid” whose parents I could berate with my eyes.

My last visit to Disneyville was for SS’s birthday 8 years ago. She’d been there countless times so I let her lead the way.  We headed straight for It’s a Small World.  Once we sat in our little boat, BC’s eyes seemed to light up as he assessed his surroundings.  Suddenly we began to move as the song began to play over and over. And over and over.  The world didn’t seem so small after listening to that song for 15 minutes.  After I minute or two though, I had déjà vu of having been there before. My mother took us to Disneyland when I was a toddler and as I sat with my son in my lap, I flashed back to the moment I first rode that ride.  So much seemed familiar, and not just the song, though I don’t remember seeing Woody from “Toy Story”  there the first time around, circa 1979. Not sure why though.  

Since BC is still a little Dude our selection of rides was somewhat limited. We took him on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, Alice in Wonderland and a few others.  The principle is pretty much the same for all: Get in a too-small vehicle for our group, get jerked around in the dark, see some scary looking creatures in bright colorful outfits and exit leaving semi-nauseated.  Sort of reminded me of prom night.

One cool thing about the Halloween event was that they had trick or treat stations scattered around the park.  I expected it to be a crappy mix of apples and pennies, so I was pleasantly surprised when it was the real deal.  And they weren’t stingy. But for some reason I kept getting the repulsive Almond Joy, until I started saying “Twix or Treat” to the workers.  Each station also had a healthy option for kids, like Craisins or carrots.  Because that’s what kids really want.  

As we waited in lines throughout the park I felt something I hadn’t felt in years. No, not joy.  Thin. If you ever want to feel good about your body image, go to Disneyland. Unless you are the size of Dumbo, there are thousands of people there who will make you feel svelte. I kept looking for Jillian Michaels & Bob Harper because it seemed like I was at a tryout for The Biggest Loser. 

As the evening progressed, we were having a great time. Other than his overtired outburst on the tram, BC was perfect all afternoon. And he was rewarded accordingly. Of his own volition. It only took BC 4 seconds to grab & unwrap a Banana Tootsie Pop from our Treat bag, though it took him half an hour to devour it and drip slimy banana goop all over his shirt.  

On our way out, we wanted BC to have a memento of the day, so we sought a pair of Mickey ears. After locating and trying them on, we settled on the adult size which was a hair too big for his melon and curls. Since he’s almost 2, I bet he’ll grow into it. Or we can just let his ‘fro expand accordingly.  

All in all, it was a fantastic day. We were able to crank through the park in 5 hours and avoided traffic both ways. And most importantly, BC had a blast. Actually, most importantly, BC fell asleep on the way home and slept till 8:00 the next morning.  And I figure that based on my established pace, I’ll look forward to going back to Disneyland sometime around 2033.

Thanks for reading The Dude of the House! Tell your friends... 

--JJ aka The Dude of the House

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