In a futile attempt to get a jump on Halloween this year, I polled the kids on costume possibilities. This fine example of asking for trouble prompted Nate to declare he wants to be an ‘angry mob’. (Well, I asked, right?) Naturally, this declaration caused Toby to ask what an angry mob was, which spurred an impromptu discussion about torches and pitchforks, which in turn made him switch costume choices on the spot from his previous pick of ‘kangaroo’ (whaaaa?) to ‘kangaroo with angry pitchfork (Whaaaa.T.F.).
Calvin and Nate thought this was a genius idea, and long story short, everyone has decided to be pitchfork-wielding kangaroos for Halloween.
Why can’t my kids be normal?
I swear they were, once upon a time.
See? Cute. Posing with pumpkins. Wearing their autumn hues and Old Navy tees that say ‘boo’, their little hearts set on nothing more complicated than dressing up as ‘toddler bat’ on page 16 of the Costume Express catalogue, which I can order for $24.99 (standard shipping free on all orders over $50).
And now I get pitchfork-wielding kangaroos. I so don’t need this in my life right now.
Which is why I’m begging for your advice. Lay it on me: WWCD? (That’s What Would Cinna Do, of course, but I have to spell it out for the 5% of the population–none of you, I’m sure–that hasn’t yet read The Hunger Games trilogy.) How would you go about Plan A: talking them out of it, or Plan B: creating or purchasing pitchfork-wielding-kangaroo costumes. Keep in mind that I don’t own a sewing machine, am dangerous with a glue gun, and am operating on a frustratingly limited costume budget. In fact, if your advice includes the procurement (or mere mention) of thread, a needle, a button, or any product with the word ‘crafting’ in the title, I’ll be forced to delete it for the greater good of all mothers everywhere. (I can, however, get my hands on fake fur, floppy ears, and pitchforks. Don’t ask.) Really, the best thing to do would be to simply mail me three pitchfork-wielding-kangaroo costumes, sizes 12, 10, and 5. That’d be awesome; you’re the best.
Seriously, what’s your next move when your kids are determined to dress up and emulate superstition-harboring, dangerous in masse, pre-enlightenment-age kangaroos? Don’t tell me this hasn’t come up in your household.
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