The above pictures are adorable right? This cute scarecrow that now adorns our front yard for a festive fall feel may be cute but just a year ago it caused me my first broken mom heart, and truth be told the bitterness I wrongly carry around in life will not allow for me to let it go. This will be the moment for me that my son will never be allowed to live down.
I don't think most people think of me as a crafty person but they are wrong. As a child if I was allowed to learn how to use my mom's sewing machine I would've created some amazing shit, but my mom hates to share and so my seamstress dreams never manifested. However I remember the day I cut a pair of sweats into amazing elf like, button decaled sweet sweat shorts. Tim Gunn would've been proud.
Last year the creative hits continued, and my first born was the lucky recipient. I asked my son for weeks what he wanted to be for Halloween and even though he was obsessed with all things commercial he asked to be a scarecrow. Fabulous, I thought to myself. That means I do not have to endure the college sluts and rednecks at Party City jockeying for the nurse moonlighting as a hooker costume. On the cheap I created for my son the most adorable scarecrow made from his own flannel and jeans, a hat given to me from a friend, and supplies from Hobby Lobby that in total cost me $10. Nightly for a week once the babes were asleep I sat in the living room crafting away and burning the shit out of my fingers with a hot glue gun, and when the product was finished I was so damn proud of myself. I was gushing over my creation, elated with my creativeness.
The day of my son's school Halloween party I did not send the costume to school because it was not a costume I could throw into a bag and have schlepped around by a 3 year old. My son had a costume with depth and character and the necessity for a hanger and delicacy. However, as soon as I crossed the threshold of his preschool room I could see the horror on my son's face. I went into instant panic mommy mode. What the hell had happened at school today? Did he go to timeout? Did he curse out the teacher? Why did he have this look on his face? And then reality hit me in the face like Kim K's booty. He was embarrassed and ashamed.
I scanned the room and saw every million dollar animated character in front of me. Buzz, Iron Man, Thomas, Dora. It was as if Toys R Us puked all over the room, and the only child not bowing down to capitalistic demi-gods was Magnus. My elated, "I'm such an amazing mom" bubble busted and I could feel myself begin to lose my decorum. Magnus and I went into the pisser to put on his costume and all hell broke loose. He let freedom ring and being only 3 didn't care that he was shattering my heart. He matter of factly stated scarecrows were stupid and he did not want to put it on. I pleaded because for hours I had been obsessed with the thought of my adorable man rocking the hell out of this scarecrow look. With much pleading and yes tears I finally got his little ungrateful ass into the costume, and as the picture above shows he did indeed look out of sight, even down to the scowl that any good scarecrow needs to do his job and scare the shit out of birds. But it wasn't birds that little s.o.b. was chasing away-it was my happiness. He refused to take pictures and hid behind an easel so he could cry, as if I showed up with a burlap sack filled with nails and said, "Happy Halloween." The entire party was terrible and all I wanted to do was rip my hard work off and tell him one day he'd appreciate me. Yep, the dreaded "one day" speech, I had been driven to that ridiculous point of motherhood already and we were only in the 1st quarter of his life.
Of course all adults who were at the party raved about the costume, because they had sense, but sadly he was out of the look in 15 minutes. I left his school and I succumbed to the moment and cried like a baby in the car. I could not believe that something I poured myself into was cast aside by the person I gained 60 lbs for and still hadn't lost. Devastation was the only correct descriptive word, and yes I do know how damn ridiculous that sounds. No one died, my house didn't burn down, but I didn't care. I was hurt, because if there is ever one person's approval you want it is the human you birthed and love more than any other on the planet.
Halloween came and I hoped that the notion of all you could eat candy would overshadow the costume. Wrong, again. As we ate our Halloween inspired dinner before the trick-or-treat trek Magnus announced, "I do not want to get candy if I have to be a scarecrow." The little bastard that ate me out of house and home was turning down free sugar because his costume was homemade. The disappointment immediately enveloped me and it was then that Dad let freedom ring. My hubs stepped into his role and very sternly explained to my son that he was going to get his little ass in that awesome scarecrow costume that took his mom many hours to make, which was not bought from a store so he should be happy he was not like everyone else, and he was going to happily walk his ass around the neighborhood and get his damn candy. It was then Magnus' turn to bust into tears, but I had never felt more proud of my husband.
These feelings reemerged last weekend as I took said costume for my fall DIY opportunity but as I staple gunned the shit out the scarecrow so he would stand I did find a sense of calm. Hmm.
And yes if you are wondering, Magnus has again requested a non-commercial costume: a snowman which again I will be crafting myself.
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