Most years, Halloween comes in the middle of the coldest time of the year.  From the time I was little, I worked to come up with the best costume only to cover it with snow pants and a parka.

When our son was little, it was fun because we lived in California and for the first time the costumes could be shown off without icicles hanging off our noses.  The first year, Matt was a mouse, then a Dalmatian, next came a Fireman, a Policeman, and then a grumpy old man.  I often wondered what went on in his mind to cause the selection of costumes.  The year I saw him rollerblading down our street in a diaper with his friends, I decided to stop wondering!

I enjoyed the drama of dressing up for a day and stepping into character, always choosing to be something out of what was normal for me.  It was an opportunity to let that little child within come out to play.

We have had a costume box in the basement for the past many years. It is full of opportunities.  The little girl gingham dress with hair ribbons and Mary Jane shoes, the surgical scrubs complete with mask, a giant pacifier and footed pajamas, a leather Robin Hood hat and green felt tunic with a brown bodysuit, even a full-sized cell phone costume with a bell that rings and buttons to press.  Who decides what it means when we choose to dress up and slip out of who we usually are in the name of Halloween?

I’ve never gotten into the dark side of the holiday.  I simply don’t want to go there.  My sister loves witches. I’m an all-inclusive Halloween celebrator. In my house you may be the princess you’ve always dreamed of, the Super Hero you aspire to be or yes, Sandy, even a Witch. You decide.  I see Halloween as a fun time to dress up, to go trick or treating, and to eat candy until you can’t anymore.

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