The most fun I ever had at Halloween, was the year I decided to fully embrace it when I was living in my house in Liverpool. I decorated my window at the front with fairy-lit twigs that I already had in my lounge, dressed from head to toe in suitably gothy, black witch clothes I already had in my wardrobe, made my face up to exaggerate my usual Saturday night face – in the style of Maleficent, and opened the door to welcome the neighbourhood kids, speaking in a suitable spooky voice and clasping a traditional besom which I have in every place I live……
There was a big pot of sweets for them to dig into, after I had insisted they sing or dance, or both. After all, nothing in life is free – and also; there’s nothing remotely Halloweeny about turning up in your trackie, ringing the doorbell and saying, “eeehhh Mrs, trick or treat. Can we have some sweets now?”
After the first group left, not sure if I was a real witch or not, word spread quickly and the entire block arrived, in groups of four or five, more to stand (at a safe distance) and stare, and only then to grab a handful of treats and run. Enormous fun!
What I’m saying is, that night wasn’t a gigantic stretch for me…..
Now when I scroll through Facebook, I see these incredibly elaborate costumes, which are terrifyingly demanding, enormously time consuming and require a modicum of creativity (and motivation). It must strike fear into the hearts of every parent. How do you possibly top the last year, and the year before that?
Now, I’m very proud of the fact I’m pretty good at utilising what I have to hand. Like say…… bin bags. What’s not to love about putting a hole in a bin sack and shoving it over the head of your little treasures? A bit of mummy’s contouring makeup and you could be anything! A witch, the count from Sesame Street, Edward Cullen (although I don’t strictly remember him wearing polyurethane), a zombie – channel mama on a Sunday morning, a skeleton – channel mama after a stomach bug/flu combo….. the possibilities are endless. It’s really about encouraging old school imagination, I feel.
My. Kids. Would. Hate. Me.
And that is my ‘reasons why I don’t have kids’ #57