Halloween is over-rated.

And I’m over it. Done. I’m fine with no Halloween this year – seriously. Nothing…except memories.

The closest I’m coming to celebrating Halloween this year is driving by a pumpkin patch on the freeway and viewing other people’s costumes on social media.

Yes, I’m that pathetic. I’m an empty nester, you know – and just absolutely cannot bring myself to put out the decorations this year. First of all, Halloween is on a weekday. I’m too old for costume parties. I’ve got papers to grade. The dog goes crazy. I’ll get PLENTY of festivity teaching 7th graders in costume. There are no kids at home this year to celebrate, AND each Oct. 31 we’re lucky if we get two rings at the doorbell.

I’m over it, big time.

I bought pumpkins at Trader Joe’s, but won’t carve them.

I got a vanilla-pumpkin scented candle but haven’t lit it.

At Target I bought a few bags of candy – just in case – and already opened them.

This Halloween I’ll probably just stay home, in the farthest corner of my house, and think about when Halloween used to be fun.

I can have my own empty-nest pity party for one, yes I can.

Halloween is over-rated, definitely.

Halloween back then…

My mom used to make our costumes, or we’d piece together some sort of get up out of closets, dig into her makeup drawer and call it good.

My sister, the creative one, somehow managed to pull together the MOST amazing costumes for all FIVE of her kids – she sewed them herself and stole the show at the downtown trick or treat.

Our kids trudged around town in the afternoon heat, ending up sweaty, sticky and ready to be done before dark. Oh yes, those were the days. 

Last weekend Lily and I spied a little girl, maybe around two, wearing a Minnie Mouse costume. She dropped her ears as she stepped out of the elevator we were on, and as I reached down to hand them to her, I noticed her shiny red shoes.

Memories streamed back to when two-year-old Lily was obsessed with her shiny red boots. My sister created the most adorable ladybug costume for her, complete with a backpack-type red and black spotted ladybug shell that slipped over her shoulders, and a little bouncy antennae headband. But it really was the shiny red shoes that put it over the top.

When I asked Lily if she remembered it, she said no.

Of course, she didn’t. So why is it so ingrained in my mind after twenty years?

I guess Halloween is over-rated, even in my memory bank.

The first Halloween with two

I dressed him up as a red chili pepper for his first Halloween. His tiny three-week-old 6-pound little body zipped snugly into the red and green fleece, making it simple for his three-year-old witch sister to proudly snuggle him on the couch before we went out. I think we made it around the block that year; mostly, I remember feeling so proud to have two healthy babies to parade around the neighborhood. Maybe the chili pepper was a foreshadowing of things to come – Cam’s obsession with hot sauce just led him to research his favorite brand for his entrepreneurial class in college.

We went through Dorothy, Bob the Builder, cross-dressing, pirates, Pocohantas and whatever else their imaginations could conjure up. A phase of presidents and presidential candidates always brought laughs when the doors opened, even into the teenage years.

Halloween now

I think I’m OK with no Halloween this year. I’ll smile as my students come dressed up for school, and then slowly bike home before dusk.

I don’t think I can handle the cuteness this year. I don’t think I can watch Charlie Brown. I’m sure I just need to lay low, be quiet.

I know I can’t handle the memories right now, either. Maybe next year. 

Halloween is over-rated anyway, isn’t it?

Nope. Not really.

But I’m still not decorating or answering my doorbell.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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October, 2000

This is a day I cradle in the tender palms of my memory, a day taken for granted for its beauty, it’s fleetingness.

This is a day I likely smiled and laughed through part of, a day I possibly looked forward to and couldn’t wait to end.

This is a day when she was four and he was three and their entire futures were misty dreams before me, a day when there were no goodbyes or good lucks or glimpses of their life caught only on a screen.

This is a day of blessings, of bliss, of life pulling at my heartstrings.

This is a day of mothering, a day if only I could start again.

Friday Photos are glimpses into the extraordinary in my ordinary life. They are inspirations, remembrances and reflections that anchor this life, and honor all the brilliant moments that otherwise might pass me by.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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All I wanted to find were the pumpkin lights to hang outside. It was Saturday and finally felt like fall. Hurriedly, I cracked open the plastic box and smiled as obnoxiously bright orangish-red curls exploded into my face. She was about 11 when she wore that, I thought. I never saw that coming – she was usually so reserved, so modest. I unwound a sparkly silver and pink princess tiara caught in the curls and slipped back in time to moments I thought would never end, to those October afternoons spent nurturing her dreams, spent coaxing out another side of herself.

The plastic presidential hopeful mask came next, squished under a handmade ceramic black cat. Not too long ago he confidently walked the town with his ‘binder-full-of-women’, confusing most children but eliciting guffaws from the adults.

He always had a dry sense of humor, even at ten. I didn’t realize then that it would be his last one.

She started as a teddy bear, snuggled up in gender-neutral brown furry suit that partially covered her bald four-month-old head. At the last minute I remember pinning on a tiny pink polka-dotted bow just for fun.

I had no idea when I first zipped him into his chili pepper suit at five-weeks-old what he would dream about fifteen years later. His tiny, premature body sunk into the red felt; only his generously-sized head kept the costume from slipping off entirely.

At three she refused to remove her fire-engine red patent leather boots, so my sister created a masterful ladybug backpack when, worn over black leggings and a long sleeve turtleneck, showcased her rapidly energetic personality. Amazingly, the headband antennae stayed atop her head the entire day.

I think Bob-The-Builder was his favorite. Never had I seen him believe so strongly in his alter-ego. He scurried around town that year in his plastic yellow helmet, tools banging against his little overall-clad legs, singing at the top of his lungs.

He wore that yellow hat until it cracked in half and no duct tape would keep it together. That was a sad day.

I unfold a tiny white hand print nestled in bubble wrap, ceramic edges rough enough to reveal the artist’s age. I nestle my fingers into hers. She really was that small, wasn’t she?

I don’t remember every costume in between. There were dozens between the two of them – spiders and firefighters, Dorothy and several witch variations – even George Bush during the election years (my son’s wry sense of humor). Now, those moments are buried, memories triggered by photos in an album or a glimpse of glitter at the bottom of the box. They are all there, somewhere, stored in a place where they can be retrieved someday, but not everyday. Was her last one in high school, dressed as a cowgirl with her best friend? How could I forget the pirate in rubber fireboots? How have these moments escaped me? Extraordinary in their ordinariness, they flicker with time like a fading, silent movie reel.

This may be the first year without costumes. They’ve both moved on, figuring out who they are and living their dreams in reality, without masks or face paint. Her tiara still shines on her head 600 miles away – I’m sure of that.

And so the years melted together, moments of Halloween joy captured behind glass and squished into plastic boxes. Not sure why, or what I think I’ll do with those fading clown wigs or teeny tiny hula skirts. All I do know for sure are those moments, those ordinary days in the life of a young mother, mark the extraordinary unfolding of a life I had no idea was happening. These are the moments I will look back on with wonder, moments I wish could have lasted just a second longer. Moments I wish I knew how much I would miss.

We hung the pumpkin lights ourselves this year, just the two of us. At twilight they make me smile. I hope some other young mom to pauses for a moment outside our front walk, glimpses at their beauty, and hugs her baby in the beauty of the moment. No selfies, no photos. Just a simple hug, maybe a kiss to the forehead, and a memory to etch in her heart.

Dear readers, what ordinary moments do you remember from Halloween costumes? Please share in the comments!

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Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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“To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.”

― Thomas Campbell

Frida Kahlo, “My Grandparents, My Parents and I”

“We all have an inner voice, our personal whisper from the universe. All we have to do is listen — feel and sense it with an open heart. Sometimes it whispers of intuition or precognition. Other times, it whispers an awareness, a remembrance from another plane. Dare to listen. Dare to hear with your heart.”

― C.J. Heck, Bits and Pieces: Short Stories from a Writer’s Soul

Charlotte Bronte

“I think it is all a matter of love; the more you love a memory the stronger and stranger it becomes”

― Vladimir Nabokov

A favorite Nicaraguan memory

“Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,

Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.”

― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie

“The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It’s the loneliness of it.

Memories need to be shared.”

― Lois Lowry, The Giver

Do you celebrate Dia de los Muertos? How do you share your memories?

• Mother, Mothering, Motherhood
• A Mother’s Love
• This Moment
• Mothering By Faith

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

More Posts - Website

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