Is it just me, or is Halloween just plain stressful?

I love Halloween. It's my excuse to wear too much makeup, false lashes, and (when I'm not feeling like a tub of lard) show more skin than any respectable mommy should, unless she's standing on the corner waiting for her john.

But here's the thing I learned this year...Halloween is friggin stressful! First, my sexy Dorothy costume made me look like a stuffed sausage. Let me rephrase that. My size LARGE Dorothy costume made me look like a stuffed sausage. I realize I have curves. Some good, some bad. I am not a stick figure. Therefore, I ordered a large. Am I plus-size? No. Do I shop a Lane Bryant? No, even thought their clothes totally rock. I did everything humanly possible to shove myself into this costume. Snipped the sleeves so I could raise my arms past my shoulders. Shoved my extra tire into the tightest, highest pair of Spanx in my secret drawer that Jasen isn't aloud to snoop in. Added an underskirt to hide some of the cellulite. Short of a girdle, it just wasn't happening. So I opted for an impromptu cowgirl. Turns out, it was a good decision.

Juni went as a tractor. I'd estimate a good 15 woman hours went into the Case International creation. Of course it was huge. He could barely hold it up at the school parade. Jasen said "Hey baby. How about next year you use more duct tape, make it bigger, and make it heavier?" My response, of course, was "bite me, jackass. How about next year you stop bossing and bitching and actually help?"

So I was up for 3 hours that night cutting the entire costume in half, trimming away width, length and weight, and re-duct taping the whole thing together.

I will say this...my kid's costume was cool. It had working headlights. The candy went into the gas tank. And on Halloween, he totally rocked it.

The problem for me with Halloween is that we don't live in a neighborhood. So the first stressful decision is always where to go. My vote? Juni's 81 and 86-year-old great-grandparents' home. Sure, the neighborhood is full of old people. But it's completely safe, they refuse to drive at night, and let's be honest...they deserve it. They raised their son, and all three of their grandchildren.

So my mom (aka Spongebob), her husband, my dad, my sister, my brother-in-law, my niece (aka devil in disguise), my mother-in-law, her boyfriend, my husband, Juni's best friend and his parents all walked through the neighborhood. My parents and step-parents are SUCH troopers. They just go with the flow...even if Mom had to waddle around as a giant Spongebob complete with makeup to make Juni smile, and Dad toted Evie when she got too tired.

My son in 4. And he's not an idiot. He realizes it's just not worth it to get the crap scared out of him for a Snickers. I can respect that. But Kyle's poor mom was literally run over by a Case Tractor when he high-tailed it back out of the scariest house I've ever seen. We're talking smoke, music, larger-than-life monsters, lights, the whole nine yards. And I'm guessing a few thousand bucks, too.

After that it was strictly the benign houses, and me keeping my cool when some of the adults joked on my kid because he's not a fan of fright.

Then there are the pictures. I have a great camera, and manage to work it pretty darned well. But of course, and understandably, everyone wants a shot of Juni. In the dark. With the anticipation of free candy waiting for him. Needless-to-say, it ain't gonna happen, folks. Let the kid do his thing. So there I am, appeasing everyone, saying that yes, I will send pictures. And that no, there's nothing I can do to make a $100 camera take pictures like my semi-pro get-up. 

And then there's what direction to take. And which kid gets tired when. And if it's too cold. I remember just about sweating to death on Halloween. It's 60 degrees outside, he's wearing two shirts, jeans, boots and 10 pounds of duct tape encased. And he's running. And probably sweating bullets.

Me, I'm the type of person that must make everyone have a good time. But I decided something this Halloween. It's not about me. It's about my son, and my niece. If they're happy, I'm happy. If they're puking chocolate 3 hours later, I'm cleaning it up. Fun times.