Just call me the Grinch

When it comes to Halloween, I'm sort of a Scrooge. I admit it. There are times I wish we were morally opposed to celebrating this American holiday. And it's all about the costumes.

My perfectionist side wants my kids to have the most adorable and creative costumes ever. My slothful side insists on putting absolutely no time or effort (mental or physical) into creating those perfect costumes. And my procrastinating side ALWAYS waits until the last possible second to do anything. These three character flaws make for the most deadly combination when it comes to All Hallows' Eve. Several days (weeks) of anxiety build the crescendo, which always results in a house left in absolute shambles. Personally, I'd rather just skip it.

But they LOVE it. Dressing up, carving the pumpkins, going to parties, trekking from house to house, sorting through the loot at the end of the night, the whole shebang. They LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it. As I suppose I did as a kid, at least until I was old enough to realize how pitiful my costumes were. So, how can I deny them?

And sometimes, I have to admit, the costumes do turn out pretty good. My absolute favorite Halloweens were our last two years in Virginia, when my very creative and enthusiastic sister Sarah transformed my family into the Wizard of Oz and Peter Pan. Last year, with the help of my artistic husband, I even managed to pull off the ensemble of Blue's Clues. But this year he hasn't been around to help, and so we ended up with a mish mash of costumes created (at the last minute, of course) from stuff we happened to have around the house.

Looking at the photo tonight, my Grinchlike small heart just grew three sizes bigger. And I realized that it's not really the costumes that matter at all. My kids are so darn cute and happy, they'd look good in just about anything. Happy Halloween!